Hozho
by LadyVic
Summary: Misunderstandings and insecurities throw the brothers off balance and land them in the path of a wildfire as they face a dangerous foe and the line between hunter and hunted blurs.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**: Misunderstandings and insecurities throw the boys off balance and land them in the path of a wildfire as they face a dangerous foe and the line between hunter and hunted blurs. Brother whumping in later chapters. Takes place in S1, after Shadow.

**A/N:** In very simple terms, the Navajo people believe that everything around us is interconnected. _Hozho_ is a state of harmony, beauty, and happiness that occurs when all of the elements of our lives, both natural and spiritual, are balanced. When _Hozho_ is disrupted, it can lead to illness and great misfortune until that balance is restored. My simplification truly does not do justice to the complexity and beauty of the Navajo Way, and for that I apologize. I will place translations at the ends of the chapters as needed.

This is my first foray onto ffnet. The story is unbeta'd and I am solely to blame for any mistakes. If any of them are annoying enough to have you grinding your teeth, please let me know and I will attempt to not repeat them in later chapters.

A Special Thank You to all the members of the SFTCOL(AR)S board. They are a truly special and talented group. To Maygin and Brenna who beat me over the head at the Chicago Con to finish this monster. And most especially to Jenilee, who has held my hand through a good portion of the story. Pimp the Limp!

**Warning:** The boys talk like men who live a tough life and were raised by a marine. In other words, they curse.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story.

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**Chapter 1**

Susan Macy was nearing the end of a very long day. The business at her coffee shop swelled in the summer when visitors flocked to the area to enjoy the peaceful mountain scenery along the Shenandoah River. She did a booming business with the water sport crowd, but her favorite customers were 'her kids', the weary hikers who trickled in from the nearby Appalachian Trail.

Word of mouth on the Trail had turned her shop into one of the Trail's most keenly anticipated milestones. After weeks of living from a backpack, her famous apple pie ala mode had been known to bring some to tears. In exchange for the good food and warm welcome, Susan was treated to their stories about the trail and the people they had met. So much so, that the shop had turned into a well known clearinghouse for informal trail info.

Susan stuffed a handful of receipts into the folder sitting on the table in front of her and flipped the old fashioned ledger closed with a satisfied smile.

"Hey Gus, you about done with that pie?" she questioned the large man seated at the lunch counter.

He swiveled his stool around to face her and patted his round stomach with regret. "Yeah, I guess," he said with a sigh. "Susie darlin', I'd eat that whole damn pie if it was up to me, but my Mary said if I gained one more pound she'd put me out." He shook his head morosely. "She's a cold, hard woman."

Susan laughed as she walked around the counter to take his plate and put it into the sink. "Your Mary has to be one of the sweetest women I have ever met. How she's put up with your nonsense for the past forty years is beyond me."

Gus glanced down at his watch and his eyes widened. "Jeeezus! I'd better get to picking her up. You shoulda said somethin' darlin'. You didn't need to stay here so late just to humor an old man."

"Don't be silly, I was glad for the company." She grabbed her keys from a shelf in back of the counter and walked around to let Gus out of the front door.

He held his hand out and blocked her from closing the door as he looked around the dark parking lot. "Seriously darlin', it is gettin' late and you're pretty isolated out here. How bout I at least wait till you're ready to head on home?"

Susan shook her head. "I'll be fine, Gus," she reassured him. "I'm just locking up and then I'm leaving. I've been doing this for 10 years and never had a bit of trouble."

"If you're sure…"

"I'm sure. You give Mary my best and tell her I'm still waiting for that coffeecake recipe she's been promising me."

She shut the door and relocked it before hitting the switch to turn off the lights in the dining area. The rising moon gave her just enough light to watch the large man cross the gravel parking lot to his pickup truck. She waited until he pulled out onto the road before she stepped away from the door.

Susan sighed when she thought of the work she would have to do at home if she was going to be ready to make some phone calls in the morning. It would be worth it. Somebody had to look out for her kids. She gathered her purse and the bank deposit bag from behind the counter before heading out the back door. The lamp above the door threw a soft cone of light that stretched to her old Nissan where it was parked twenty feet away.

A soft breeze stirred the trees that blanketed the slope rising up beyond her car and the parched grass in front of them whispered dryly, almost hiding the sound of a small stone clicking against rocks as it rolled downhill. Susan stopped next to her car and her eyes searched the edge of the trees in the moonlight.

The sound came again, only this time there were several stones bouncing down the packed dry dirt of the trail. Could be a deer, or could be that one of her kids was in trouble on the trail and looking for help. God knew cell phones could be useless up there.

She unlocked the driver's door and pulled it open, dropping her keys and the other items in her hand onto the driver's seat before grabbing a small flashlight from the door's map pocket. She walked around the car, shining the light towards an opening in the trees. It marked the start of a spur trail that wound a mile up the mountain before intersecting with the Appalachian Trail.

"Hello? Is there somebody there?" The only answer was a slight breath of wind stirring the leaves. When it died away the night was silent. Completely silent. Even the ever present cicadas and crickets were quiet. Despite the warmth of the evening, small goosebumps rose on her bare arms.

Her heart jumped at a slight movement caught by the corner of her eye and she whirled to shine the flashlight towards the trash cans at the far corner of her building. The moonlight didn't reach that side of the building and the darkness there was almost complete. The weak flashlight beam did little to lighten the heavy blackness. Shadows slid over shadows, impressions of movement that were fleeting enough to defy identification.

The shadows moved again and she was able to distinguish an outline, a solid form almost hidden in the gloom. A couple of soft huffs reached her ears before the screech of claws swatting a trash can confirmed her suspicions. She sagged against the car in relief and gave a shaky laugh. It was only a bear checking out the trash can.

Black bears were common in the area, shy, and with rare exception, harmless. She banged the flashlight on the roof of her car. "Get away from there! Go on now! Shoo!" Her confidence dimmed when he ignored the downed can and began to move farther out from the edge of the building. "Jesus! You are a big fella!" Her breath froze in her throat when he came fully out of the shadows.

The form lumbered towards her and she began to edge backwards. The driver's door was the only one unlocked. It was still open on the other side of the car, offering a safe haven. He picked up speed and she turned to race around the back of the car in a panic, expecting to feel his claws snagging at her T shirt any second. She spared a quick glance behind her as she rounded the trunk.

There was nothing there.

Her eyes were wrenched back to the front of the car when the driver's door slammed shut with enough force to rock the vehicle. She could only stare in disbelief at the creature standing on all fours in front of her, huffing softly. He had anticipated her escape attempt and veered to the driver's side of the car.

Slowly he stood up on his hind legs until he towered over her. Intelligent red eyes gleamed down at her and a scream began to build in the back of her throat. A massive paw slammed into her and she flew sideways, landing several feet from the car. He dropped to all fours and ambled slowly towards her as though he had all the time in the world. She had almost convinced herself that this was just an incredibly bad nightmare when his next blow snapped her neck.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Sometimes you had to just sit back and enjoy the little pleasures that life had to offer. Good food, good company, and quality entertainment. Dean Winchester reached into the bag next to him and threw a peanut M&M into his mouth before snatching the remote off of the bedspread and raising the TV's volume another couple of notches.

"Sammy, check this out! This part is classic!" He watched the screen with a large smile of anticipation. "You're missing it, dude…DOH!" Dean started to laugh. "How could anybody be so stupid?" He glanced across the hotel room to where his brother was seated at the unit's obligatory small table. The laptop was open in front of Sam and his fingers flew over the keyboard. "Dude! You paying attention?"

Dean dug an M&M out of the bag and flung it across the room with deadly accuracy. It bounced off of Sam's forehead and landed on the table in front of him.

"OW! What was that for?" Sam stared at his brother with a scowl as he rubbed his forehead.

"You haven't heard a word I've been saying!" Dean accused.

"What are you, five? He's stupid because he's a cartoon character named Homer." Sam looked back down at the laptop and continued to type. "I heard every word you said," he muttered. "I just chose to ignore you."

Dean dug another M&M out and contemplated it for a moment before tossing it into his mouth with a shrug. They were just too damn good to waste. The action on the TV caught his eye and he started to laugh again. Good food, good company, quality entertainment…Hell, two out of three wasn't bad.

It only took about fifteen minutes before his attention began to wander again. He'd been getting antsy lately, the tension slowly building in his muscles over the past couple of days. He snuck a look at Sam, still typing away with a small grin on his face. The claw marks left on his face by the daeva's in Chicago had healed nicely. They were barely visible in the sunlight, in the soft glow of the computer screen you couldn't see them at all.

That encounter had laid both brothers up for a while. They holed up in a series of nondescript hotel rooms giving their wounds time to heal. When the boredom became too much after the first couple of weeks they confined their hunting to a few textbook salt and burns. The jobs were easy on their scabbed over cuts, but did little to raise their flagging spirits.

Dean aimed the remote at the screen and began to flip through the seemingly endless channels looking for anything that could hold his interest for more than five minutes. He was bored already and it was barely 7 pm. He stole occasional glances at his brother trying to gauge just how much the constant channel flipping was annoying the younger man. If he could distract Sam from the computer he could sometimes cajole him into heading out for a beer.

The kid remained oblivious, however. He was too wrapped up in the computer to rise to the bait, and Dean sighed in frustration. Ever since St. Louis they had fallen into a silent truce. Dean pretended not to know that Sam still sent regular emails to his college friends, and Sam just didn't talk about them. They hadn't really 'agreed to disagree' on the matter, that implied some understanding of each other's viewpoints. This was more of a "Don't ask, don't tell" policy.

A familiar cold spot bloomed in Dean's stomach when his brother snorted a quick laugh at something he read before a new spate of typing. He turned the TV off and threw the remote down before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His little brother's company was not required for him to have a good time at the small bar right down the street.

Sam muttered a soft "huh" and Dean's hand stilled as he reached for his wallet on the nightstand. Sam was staring at the computer screen with a thoughtful expression and Dean's spirits perked up. He'd seen that look before.

"Huh what? You find a new gig for us? Something good on one of the news sites?" Dean stood up eagerly and crossed the room to get a look at the computer.

"Uh, no, it's probably nothing…" Sam grabbed both sides of the computer and pulled it closer to himself.

Dean reached across the table with a smirk and latched onto the laptop trying to free it from his brother's possessive grasp. It was a big brother's prerogative to occasionally take away a little brother's toys.

Sam leaned back in the chair with a resigned frown when Dean won the brief tug-of-war. "Just something that caught my eye," he explained "I'm going to dig around a bit and see what I can find."

Dean's enthusiasm died a quick death when he turned the computer and looked at the screen. Sam wasn't on a news site, he was still playing with his emails. He forced a smile. "Another college buddy who needs our help? Cause, I mean, last time turned out so well."

"Last time we saved an innocent man from prison and stopped a shapeshifter from killing more people. All in all, I'd say things went okay," Sam answered quickly.

Dean looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Dude! I'm a dead serial killer in St. Louis! Define 'ok'!" He was gratified to see that Sam had the good sense to look embarrassed.

"Well, I meant besides that part." Sam tried to reclaim the computer but Dean pulled it farther out of his reach.

"Probably wouldn't think it was okay if you were the dead serial killer," Dean muttered as his eyes dropped down to the screen. "So what is it this time? Ghost in the frat house keeps draining the keg? Possessed cheerleaders?" He tilted his head to the side with a dreamy expression. "Although that one might not be bad. Imagine how grateful—"

"Are you done?" Sam interrupted. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Dean from under the curtain of his bangs. "It's August, Dean. They're not at school. Kurt's been hiking the AT for the past couple of months."

"A. T.?"

"Appalachian Trail. Kurt and his girlfriend Cindy took the summer off to do some section hiking…" he stopped at Dean's puzzled expression. "Some people try to hike long stretches of the trail over a couple of weeks or months instead of just day trips. It's called 'section hiking' or 'through hiking'."

Dean looked at him with a complete lack of comprehension. "And they would do that…why?"

"Because it's a challenge, a way of getting back to nature—"

"And you think WE'RE weird?" Dean snorted.

Sam threw his hands into the air. "It doesn't matter why they do it! The point is, Kurt said there are some strange stories making the rounds of the trail. People disappearing, animal maulings," Sam leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table as he warmed to his subject. "And get this. When they got to Harper's Ferry they ate at a little restaurant right off of the trail. The owner was talking to a couple of other hikers, telling them to be careful because of the weird stuff that was going on."

Sam spread his hands and gave a little smile as though he was about to impart a great secret. Dean was struck by how intense his brother could become when a hunt piqued his interest. He hadn't seen that intensity since Chicago and he found himself starting to take an interest in the story.

"Dean, when they went back to the restaurant the next morning the cops were there. The owner never made it home that night. She was just gone. Cindy's so spooked they're going home a couple of weeks early." He looked at Dean expectantly.

"And that's it? I don't know, Sam, seems a little weak."

"C'mon Dean, we've checked things out with less to go on."

"The stories the hikers are passing around could just be urban legends, you know, trying to scare each other around the campfire. And the lady who disappeared…" Dean's eyes skimmed down the email as he talked. He paused as a couple of lines caught his eye and he reread them, a slow burn starting in his chest. He straightened up and looked at Sam with hard eyes. "And the lady who disappeared," he repeated, "well, people just 'go away' every day for reasons that have nothing to do with the supernatural. Don't they, Sam?"

Sam sighed and his eyes slid away for a moment before he brought them back to look Dean in the eye as he talked. "That's why I wanted to check things out without bringing the email into it. I knew you'd misunderstand."

"Misunderstand what, Sam? He says they looked for you in Massachusetts before they started down the trail." Dean looked down and read a line from the message, turning it into a question. "He's sorry you didn't make it to meet up with them?"

"Dean, I—"

Dean hid the hurt behind the coldness of his voice. "Were you planning on telling me you were going, or was I just gonna get a call from the trail? Why didn't you go?"

"No, Dean, I wasn't going to—"

Dean ignored him while he did a quick calculation in his head. The burning in his chest reached his throat when he came up with an answer to his own question. "That would have been…what…June? What happened? Our little run in with the daevas put a crimp in your plans? Couldn't think of any way to explain the claw marks across your face? C'mon, Sammy, you're a smart boy. I'm sure you could have thought of something."

Sam pushed himself to his feet and leaned over the table, resting his weight on clenched fists. "Dean, just shut up for a second and listen to me!" His voice was caught somewhere between anger and pleading. "Yeah, we talked about hiking the trail together." He held a hand up to forestall a new outburst. "LAST SUMMER! Jess and I spent a couple of weeks hiking with them in New England last summer and we talked about doing a long stretch this year! That was before you came to get me at Stanford! Before any of this." He waved his hand to encompass the room, their duffels, the salt lines at the doors and windows. He took a shaky breath and continued more softly, the anger gone, just the pleading left in his voice. "This summer was gonna be the four of us together after graduation. Before we had to face the real world and jobs and grad school." Sam straightened up and ran his hand through his hair wearily. "Those plans died with Jess, Dean. I had no intention of meeting up with Kurt in June."

Dean stood ramrod straight, shoulders back, feet planted, his expression unreadable. He managed not to scoff at Sam's mention of facing the 'real world'. Sam new damn well that the safe, normal life he craved was the illusion. The real world was a dangerous place populated by monsters. Sam was looking at him hopefully but Dean didn't relax his stance. The knot of fear in his chest was still burning too hot. A small smile curved his lips but didn't come within a mile of his eyes.

"I didn't go away to a fancy school like you, Sam. Maybe you could explain it to me, 'cause I just don't get it. Why did you let him keep thinking you might be going with him?" Dean relaxed his shoulders and raised his hand to wag a finger at his brother as he continued conversationally. "You see, I'm thinking you were keeping your options open. Because you sure as hell have no problem saying 'no' loud and clear to me or Dad when you don't want to do something." Dean pushed down a moment of regret as he watched the hope leach out of his brother's face.

Sam shook his head with a humorless chuckle. "Why do I bother?" he asked quietly. He plopped back down into the chair and pulled the computer back toward himself, turning it to face him. He leaned over to retrieve a small notebook and pen from the backpack next to his chair, placing them neatly next to the computer. "Believe what you want. I'm going to see if this looks like something we should check out." He turned his attention to the screen, effectively shutting his brother out.

"You do that," Dean said, grabbing his wallet. "There's a bar down the street that definitely looks like something that _I_ need to check out." He pulled the door open and stood in the doorway for a second with his back to Sam. "Don't wait up," he said quietly, pulling the door shut without ever looking back.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Sam pushed the computer away from himself after hearing the soft click of the closing door. No slamming doors for Dean. He held his emotions too tightly to give in to a display like that.

He propped his elbows on the table and dropped his face into his hands, his tense shoulders slumping. He was just so damned tired. He had been since Chicago. Standing in that dirty alley he'd realized that none of this would be ending soon. John Winchester was on the run. The mighty John Winchester was scared. That spoke of an evil far greater than a single demon, no matter how nasty a bastard he was. His dad had said the fight was just starting, and he was right. Sam could feel it in his bones. Hunting was a quicksand that would never let him go.

Sam snatched the notebook from the table and heaved it against the wall with such fury that it hit with a loud smack, torn pages fluttering to the ground like giant confetti. Guess he didn't have his brother's self control.

Sam had never felt so alone before. He kept his grief over the dreams that died in Chicago to himself. He didn't share his fears about what was coming, or his frustration over being denied the chance to face the demon that killed Jess.

He and Dean were both hurting and withdrawn after they separated from John in Chicago, both dealing with their own issues. When the time finally seemed right to talk about everything, Sam had been met by a brick wall wearing his brother's face.

Dean had been his rock for as long as he could remember. Even when he was away at school he'd known his big brother would be there if he needed him. But he'd hurt Dean in Chicago when he said he wanted to go back to school after the demon was dead. He didn't make it clear that he was rejecting hunting, not rejecting his big brother. He couldn't imagine a life without his brother in it. They were too much a part of each other. He just wanted more, for himself and for Dean. More than the limits John had put on their world. He'd thought Dean would know that without being told, like so much of their relationship was just accepted as a given without discussion.

He hadn't counted on the depth of Dean's insecurities.

On the surface things seemed fine. They still laughed and joked, worked smoothly together on a couple of easy jobs. But underneath, something in their foundation had cracked. Their fights were becoming more frequent and more ferocious. Dean had begun treating every mention of school, or friends, or Sam's desire for normalcy, as warnings of imminent desertion. Sam's attempts to get to the root of the problem were turned away with a flip remark, or met with outright hostility. Dean seemed to be in denial that there even was a problem.

The wall that Dean had built was pushing Sam farther and farther into the cold, and the chill was starting to eat into Sam's soul. It was becoming more obvious every day that, deep down, his brother no longer trusted him. Every reminder of this new reality cut into Sam a little more, made him bleed a little heavier.

Sam didn't know how to fix it. He could only hope that time, and some jobs that they could sink their teeth into, would help to heal the rift.

They needed the type of job that would challenge them, make them work hard, make them work together. Uncovering what was behind the incidents on the Appalachian Trail, and dealing with it, just felt right to Sam. He didn't think his belief in this particular job had anything to do with its ties to his past life. But he'd have a tough time convincing Dean of that. He had a lot of work ahead of him.

Sam pulled his phone out of his pocket and punched in a familiar number. While he waited for the call to connect he walked across the room and began to gather the pages that had ripped from his notebook. He had no control over the big grin that relaxed his face when he heard a voice answer at the other end.

"Kurt? How the hell you doing, buddy? It's Sam."

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Dean closed the hotel room door slowly, wincing when the latch slipped into place with an audible click. Slight movement from the far bed indicated that the soft noise had not gone unnoticed. Years of training weren't discarded even in sleep.

"It's ok, it's just me," he whispered. The movements stilled and he waited until he heard Sam's breathing slow back to a sleepy rhythm before he moved. The delay gave his eyes a chance to adjust after the glare of the early morning light outside. The room's window shades were not exactly the 'black out' variety. Enough light filtered around their edges to give Dean a clear view of the room.

The sight of the table and the floor around it elicited a soft whistle. Somebody had been a very busy boy. He moved closer for a better look, careful not to disturb the piles of paper on the floor next to the table.

On the table itself were several sheets of notebook paper taped together to form a long strip. Sam had drawn a crude representation of the east coast down the strip, with state lines and major cities mapped for perspective. There was a red line traced from Maine to Georgia that Dean guessed must be the Appalachian Trail. Small numbered crosses traveled down the red line, some directly on it and others in fairly close proximity. Most had dates jotted next to them, although a couple bore question marks. Dean shifted the map on the table so that it was lit by a shaft of sunlight and grunted in admiration. The kid could give their dad a run for his money when it came to putting patterns together. There was a clear time progression heading south down the map. The most recent highlighted mark was also the farthest south, in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia.

Dean picked up a pad of paper sitting on the table. The first few pages were covered with his brother's handwriting. Well, actually, it started as handwriting, but eventually began to resemble chicken scratch. Sam had jotted down notes about each of the crosses on the map. The incidents listed ran the gamut from cattle mutilations to missing people, missing pets, animal attacks, fish and wildlife agency investigations…there were even some for property damage. They were so varied that if you weren't looking for a pattern you would never see it.

The amount of work represented by the map and all of the papers around it was impressive. Sam must have worked on it through the night. Stubborn ass definitely needed a hobby.

Dean moved over to stand next to the bed and looked down at his little brother. Sam was still in the T shirt and jeans he'd had on when Dean walked out the night before. He looked like he had just collapsed onto the top of the bed and hadn't moved since. The blankets under him were barely rumpled.

He was lying on his side facing Dean's bed and Dean squatted down in front of him. God, the kid looked whupped. When had those bags taken up residence under his eyes? He placed a hand on Sam's shoulder and shook it gently. "Wakey wakey Clarisse," he said softly.

Heavy lidded eyes opened slowly. "wha…" They blinked a couple of times before focusing on Dean. "Dean…you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine Sammy."

Sam gave a slight smile and his eyes started to drift shut. "Good…glad you're back," he murmured.

Dean shook him gently again. "Oh no, little bro, time to get up. Help me get this place packed up and then you can sleep in the car."

Sam's forehead scrunched in confusion and his eyes opened to the merest slits. "Car?"

Dean gave a little shrug. "Looks like we're going to West Virginia."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: Thank you so much for the feedback I've received and your interest in this story. Things will heat up a little in this chapter. I hope you like it. And yes, Jenilee, you did hold my hand, even if you didn't realize you were doing it. Knowing you were enjoying the story kept me working on it and made me think it might be an ok effort.

Translations are placed at the end of the chapter. I've done the best I can with them, but I'm far from an expert and some Navajo terms and concepts have no definitive English translation.

**Disclaimer**: They're still not mine, but I'm still having fun playing with them.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**Hozho Chapter 2**

Gravel crunched under the Impala's tires as Dean pulled off of a winding county route and edged the car into a parking space in front of the Mountainside Café. They shared the lot with only a handful of other vehicles, a pretty even mix of pickups and more upscale yuppie-mobiles.

Sam gratefully climbed out and reached his arms overhead, enjoying the delicious stretch of muscles that had been stuffed into a confined space for far too long. The interior of the Chevy was roomy, but it was no match for his solid 6'3" frame. His eyes roamed over the restaurant and surrounding area as he stretched.

The café itself was a tidy one story building. Cedar shake siding ran lengthwise across the bottom half of the front wall underneath a long expanse of windows. Green awnings shaded the windows from the heat of the afternoon sun. Three wide wooden steps led up to a glass entrance door centered in the front of the building. The cafe was situated on a small flat area between the blacktop and the bulk of the mountain, the steeply rising wooded mountainside serving as a picturesque backdrop. The county route itself was cut into the side of the mountain slope about forty feet above the river. A low stone wall edged the far side of the road, giving visitors a spot to sit and enjoy the peaceful river vista below them.

Sam turned at the sound of boots crunching over the gravel. He followed wordlessly when he saw Dean stepping into the road and heading towards the stone wall.

"Kurt said they found some blood on this wall but that was pretty much it," Sam said quietly. "Nobody saw a thing and the ground is too dry to pick up any kind of tracks."

Dean looked over the wall. The ground slanted steeply for a few feet before turning into a sheer drop down to swiftly moving water. "If a body was dumped here it could be a while before it shows up downriver."

"They've got people looking. This area's in a serious drought so the water levels are lower than usual. Sooner or later the body's got to show up. Or what's left of it," Sam grimaced.

"C'mon, I'm about ready for something cold to drink," Dean said, plucking at his damp T shirt and pulling it away from his stomach as he crossed back over the road with Sam close behind.

The interior of the restaurant was cool and shaded. The boys stood by the door for a moment to give their eyes time to adjust. An old fashioned lunch counter with round swivel stools ran most of the length of the room and small wooden tables with four chairs each were lined up under the windows. A doorway in back of the counter lead to what was obviously a kitchen and storage area. A couple of doors in the back wall to the right of the counter were simply marked as "Ladies" and "Gents". The room was modestly decorated, with potted plants in the corners and framed photos and area maps lining the walls.

A trim blond in her early twenties smiled at them as she walked past carrying a couple of plates loaded down with huge sandwiches. "Sit wherever you want, boys."

Dean's eyes followed her as she continued to a table near the far end of the room. "Oh, I'll take one of those," he said fervently as he began to thread his way through tables in her wake.

He walked the length of the room before settling on a table next to the side wall. The other diners were a mixed bunch, exactly what you would expect in an eatery that was popular with both the rural locals and an assortment of tourists. Popular or not, the crowd was sparse. They were in the middle of the café's slow patch, too late for the lunch crowd and too early for those seeking dinner.

The blonde approached with menus, a single page laminated in plastic, and handed them over with a strained smile. She was a pretty girl, but her face was pale and her blue eyes were red rimmed and underscored by dark smudges. "Hi, I'm Chrissie. Was there anything I could get for you boys while you're looking at the menu?"

Sam saw the slow grin spreading over his brother's face and kicked him under the table before he could open his mouth. "Just some water, please," he said politely, ignoring his brother's scowl.

Dean picked up the menu and checked both sides before glaring at Sam. "Sam? Where are the burgers? What kind of place did you bring me to?"

Sam glanced at the menu. "So get a turkey sandwich. You'll survive." He gave a subtle nod to indicate Chrissie's approach with large glasses of icy water.

"Decided what you want or do you need more time?" she asked as she put the sweating glasses on the table. She pulled a small pad of paper and pencil from her back pocket and looked at them expectantly.

Dean looked at her with a hopeful expression. "Burger?"

Chrissie gave a quick shake of her head. "We limit the hot food to things that can be made ahead and kept warm for a while. You know…chili and soups and stuff." She used the pencil to point at the menu. "Susan doesn't want…" She trailed off and cleared her throat before starting again. "Susan didn't want to be stuck back in the kitchen." A sad grin touched her lips. "She really liked having time to talk to everybody out here."

Sam looked up at her in wide eyed sympathy. "I heard from my friend about what happened. I'm sorry," he said with patented Samuel Winchester sincerity. The key to its effectiveness was probably that he truly did empathize. "We were a little surprised that you're open," he continued, leaving an opening.

"Stan…Susan's husband?...he's a long haul trucker and asked if I could keep the place running until he's back in town and can decide what to do."

"It must be tough," Sam prompted her to continue.

"Yeah, it is," she said with a soft hitch, "It's just tough not knowing. You know?" Her eyes went to the front windows and her expression darkened. "I've been closing early. I'm outta here way before it gets dark."

"What exactly happened?" Dean asked quietly.

Chrissie looked speculatively at them for a moment and Sam did his best to look like a sympathetic shoulder she could cry on. She glanced around the dining area to make sure she wasn't needed elsewhere before wagging the pencil at a heavy set woman bustling around behind the counter. "Lu? I'm taking five." She pulled one of the extra chairs out and sat down with a sigh.

"They don't really know," she said tiredly. "Susan was here late working on the books. She sent me home when we closed." Her voice had dropped to a broken whisper. "I know it's not my fault that I left, but it's still tough, you know?" Sam gave a reassuring nod and she continued. "But Gus? He's all broken up about it."

"Who's Gus?" Dean questioned.

"Gus Monroe. Owns the hardware store in town. He stopped by that night and kept Susan company for a while. She told him she was leaving right after him. Now Gus is blaming himself. Thinks if he waited for her she woulda made it home safe instead of…" She broke off and gave a small shrug. "We don't know what happened. We just know her car was out back and she was gone."

"Do the police have any ideas? Anybody in the area see or hear anything strange?" Dean leaned over the table as he asked.

Chrissie sat back and folded her arms over her chest, looking at them with suddenly narrowed eyes. "You know, just who are you guys?" She addressed the question to Sam.

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance and Dean gave Sam a quick nod. "I'm Sam Kinney and this is my brother Dean. Our sister Debbie disappeared off of the AT up in Pennsylvania a couple of months ago. Nobody has a clue what happened to her. Dean's a police officer at home and we're trying to find some answers ourselves. We've been hearing about strange things happening on the trail and we don't know if it's connected to our sister." It was true that a Debbie Kinney had disappeared in Pennsylvania.

Chrissie's eyes had widened while Sam talked. "Oh my God! One of Susan's kids? She's been so worried about them!" The boys stared at her blankly and she pushed her chair back, standing up suddenly. "Come on, I want to show you something."

She led them to a large bulletin board on the wall between the rest rooms. Every square inch was covered with overlapping photos, postcards and notes. "Susan's kids," Chrissie said softly.

The pictures were mainly outdoor scenes, scruffy but happy young people on mountain tops, lounging in front of tents, and on the trail. Many of the pictures featured jubilant hikers standing by a sign reading "Katahdin" or lounging on an expanse of stone with a greenish bronze plaque mounted to it. Sam pointed a couple of them out to Dean. "Katahdin is the northern end of the trail in Maine, this plaque marks the Southern end of the trail on Springer Mountain in Georgia," he explained. He turned to Chrissie. "These people completed the Trail?"

"Yeah. Susan was real proud of them. She still keeps…kept in touch with a lot of them. They all loved her. They sent all these pictures and cards to her so she could see how they were doing after they left. Kinda sharing the trail with her."

Dean pointed to a slim woman with brown hair liberally streaked with gray. She was posed with different young hikers in a number of pictures that were obviously taken in and around the café. Her wide smile crinkled the corners of her eyes warmly. "Is this Susan?"

"Yeah," Chrissie answered with a small smile.

"You said she's been worried about the kids on the trail. What did you mean?" Sam asked.

"I think Susan knew more about what went on on the Trail than anybody else in the world," Chrissie said proudly. She pointed at the pictures. "The kids all treated her like a second mom. You know? They told her things and she kept track of it all. Then she'd pass the information on. Let the next group know about trail conditions or some new camping supply store they should try…Sometimes she'd even get in touch with the Trail Conference…the group that looks after the trail?... and let them know if there was stuff they had to take care of. People listened to her." She looked back and forth between the brothers to make sure they were following her up to that point before she continued. "Well, a few months ago she started hearing about some strange stuff. Nothing much at first, and it was all pretty far north."

"What kind of strange stuff?" Dean prompted.

"That's the funny part. It was nothing she could put her finger on at first. A bunch of little stuff, you know, like random? Packs gone missing, people feeling like they were being followed, silly things like a couple of people swearing they saw a wolf, or saw weird tracks. But then she started hearing more serious stuff. Stuff happening in the towns along the trail. The kids started bringing her stories about people disappearing and livestock being attacked. And then it started to happen on the trail too. A guy got mauled by a bear on the trail near Delaware Water Gap, another got hurt real bad when something chased him on the trail in New York and he fell down some rocks… And then it got even worse." She looked at them wide eyed and they nodded their encouragement.

"People started coming in asking if Susan had seen their friends. People hiking south who they were supposed to meet up with, but who never showed up. Or other through hikers they were used to running into on the trail every couple of days, who just weren't there anymore. Susan started getting real worried. You know what it's like 'cause of your sister. When people are on the trail sometimes you don't hear from them for a couple of weeks at a time. Susan started thinking a whole bunch of her kids could be missing, and nobody knew it yet."

Chrissie looked at the collection of photos with a small frown. "First time ever, I heard her start warning people they should stay off the trail. At least until she could get somebody to find out what was going on. She said she was gonna put together all the info she had…and it was a lot…and then push for an investigation."

Sam looked at her sympathetically. "I know she wanted to help, but…really…it's not easy to get an investigation that big going."

Chrissie crossed her arms over her chest and stared him in the eye. "You didn't know Susan," she said adamantly. "When she said she was going to get something done, she got it done. You'd be amazed how many important people like to stop in here and chat with Susan after doing some rafting on the river. Head of the Pennsylvania state police vacations near here. He's real partial to her apple pie. And you see her?"

She pointed at one of the pictures. It showed a young blonde woman with a bandana wrapped around her head and a joyously triumphant smile, standing on a pile of rocks with a backpack at her feet. She looked like she was at the top of the world with nothing but sky in back of her as she leaned against the red Katahdin sign. "Picture's a few years old, but she still stops in here regular. She's got some kind of important job with the FBI. These people all respected Susan. They would have listened to her."

"What happened to the info?" Dean asked. "Did she give it to anyone?"

"She never had a chance," Chrissie answered with tears in her eyes. "Susan's gone and I know it would just break her heart that there's nobody watching out for her kids now."

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Dean crouched down and looked closely at scuff marks in the dirt. "Nothing," he said with disgust as he stood up. "The ground is so dry it's like rock." He wiped sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand as his eyes swept the packed earth and dead grass in back of the cafe. "Too bad the police already towed the car. We might have been able to get something from it."

"It would be nice if we had at least some idea of what we're looking for," Sam said as he walked the edge of the tree line with the silent EMF detector in his hand. He stopped when he reached the opening that marked the trail up the mountain. The shade was deep under the trees, inviting him to step out of the heat of the sun. He had grabbed his old hiking backpack from the car, and he could feel sweat gathering between it and his back.

"Well, we know it's not a werewolf," Dean said quietly as he joined Sam. "You said the lunar cycles didn't match, right?"

"Yeah." Sam stepped into the shade and started up the trail. The air was still heavy but didn't have the steam bath quality of the sunshine. "It's only a mile up to the AT, it shouldn't take us long," he said over his shoulder.

The trail was packed brown dirt, slightly gullied from water runoff during rainstorms. The rain was just a distant memory and smaller vegetation on the sides of the trail was starting to curl and turn brown. The trail would have been impossibly steep if it ran in a straight line up the mountain, but a series of switchbacks snaked it back and forth up the slope.

Sam stopped on a switchback after they had been climbing for a little while, and his eyes probed the dark and silent forest beyond the hairpin curve where he stood. He snagged a water bottle tucked into a side pocket of the backpack and unscrewed it, tilting his head back to take a long swallow before attempting to hand the bottle to Dean.

Dean pursed his mouth and wrinkled his nose with disgust. "Dude! Backwash!"

Sam shrugged and recapped the bottle. "You should have brought your own. I'm not carrying your butt back down when you fall over from heat stroke." Neither brother was having difficulty with the climb, but the persistent heat and humidity weighed them down like a heavy blanket. The air was like a soft shifting mass against them, solid enough to make even slight changes noticeable. Sam looked sideways at his brother with his eyebrows raised in a silent question.

Dean's eyes searched the woods. "Yeah, I feel it. What is that?"

They were standing in a small pocket of cooler air. Damp air richly scented of moist earth and decaying leaves.

"My guess is that there must be a small spring further up the mountain and the water runs down this way. It's pretty common in the mountains around here. Think we should check it out?"

Dean shrugged. "Hey, you're Mr. L.L. Bean out here. What do you think?"

Sam looked at the dense snarl of low bushes and downed trees in front of them thoughtfully. "A lot of the reports involve animals, and water sources are drying up with the drought." He looked apologetically at his brother. "Animals would be drawn to the water. I think we should check it out."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Dean muttered. "Don't suppose you brought the machete?"

It was slow going in the tangled underbrush and both men were sporting impressive scratches on their arms by the time they broke through to an area of thinner vegetation. Sam swung around when he heard Dean give a sudden hiss and start to curse.

"You okay?"

Dean was looking down at his side, concentrating on removing a thorny vine that had snagged his T shirt. "No I'm not okay," he snapped. "This is my favorite shirt!"

Sam hid a smile as he turned away to check out the area around them. They were standing next to a trickle of water that ran slowly down a narrow channel in the hillside. It would have been a gross exaggeration to call it a stream. It was only several inches wide in some spots, and at its widest points no more than a foot or so. By the looks of the damp mud on either side of it, it was probably at least twice as wide during a normally generous rainy season. A well worn animal trail paralleled the water on the opposite side.

He stepped over the water and began to walk up the animal trail, his eyes examining the damp mud on either side of the trickle. "Raccoon, possum, hmmm…looks like a fox…" Identifying and tracking all manner of living—and sometimes 'not quite living'—things had been an integral part of their training as hunters. "Deer…a LOT of deer…" Sam continued his quiet litany.

"So we're dealing with a psycho Bambi?"

Sam ignored his brother and continued along the animal trail with Dean behind him. It was not the easy jaunt up the switch-backed path they had left. With nothing to moderate the elevation gain the going was much steeper and there were sections where they had to use tree limbs as hand holds to keep their balance as they climbed.

They reached a wider spot where the slope flattened out slightly and the water pooled a bit before continuing its downward journey. The edges of the mud in this area were starting to dry out and tracks were well preserved in the hardening mud.

Sam's pulse quickened at the sight of several tracks that dwarfed the rest. "Dean, look at this. It's a bear."

"Big sucker, too," Dean whistled. "Aren't bears common around here?"

Sam shrugged out of the right shoulder strap allowing his backpack to slip down onto his left arm, never taking his eyes off of the tracks. He reached into an outside pocket and pulled out a pencil before laying the pack on the ground and crouching next to one of the most distinct paw marks. "Yeah, black bears are," he said thoughtfully, almost to himself. He traced his finger lightly over the marks left by the huge claws and then placed the pencil across the track, between the pad of the foot and the toes, checking the shape of the arch. "But this wasn't made by a black bear," he finally continued, looking up at his brother. "Dean, these are grizzly tracks."

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The follower slipped fluidly through the trees, blending from one patch of shade to another. He couldn't see the two men he tracked, relying on his nose and ears instead. The two men were quieter than most, but to him they were still like blundering elephants in the forest.

He was curious as to their presence. The _biligaana_ never ventured off of the trail like these two. When they began to follow the water, he began to follow them. Leaping lightly over downed trees, his claws digging in to find purchase on steep sections, he paralleled their progress upwards. There were many animal paths through the forest.

It was a game, this following them. He had no need to bring them down. His belly was full, his lusts sated. They were no threat to him.

Two words reached his ears: "grizzly tracks". He would have laughed if this form had allowed it. The fear they must feel at the sight sang in his blood. He sat back on his haunches and raised his muzzle to the sky. He sang of his power to the trees and the land.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Dean swiveled smoothly in the direction of the haunting call. "What the hell?!"

Without thinking he took a sideways step, placing himself between the source of the howl and his little brother. He could feel Sam's warm breath on the back of his neck as his brother moved closer, looking over his shoulder and into the trees.

"Dean, that was a wolf," Sam said softly.

Dean rewarded him with a 'well, duh!' look over his shoulder. "Aren't wolves about as common around here as grizzlies? As in…there aren't any?" He didn't wait for Sam to reply before he continued. "So unless we're looking at a meeting of the Animal Justice League, we're hunting something that can take different forms."

Sam shifted his position and Dean could feel his brother's shoulder blade lightly skim the back of his own shoulder. The stood like that, back to back, for a full minute, senses straining to detect any threat in the forest around them. The woods pressed in tightly around their small clearing, deep and ominously quiet. Adrenalin hummed through Dean's system. He was ready for a fight. Damn, he would relish a fight.

"Doesn't make any sense to go after it until we have a better idea of what it is," Dean said softly once the initial rush began to fade. "I'll keep an eye out. See if there are any other tracks we should know about and then let's get the hell out of here."

Sam snagged the water bottle from the side of his pack and sipped as he shrugged the pack back onto his shoulders. He held the water bottle out in his brother's direction. Dean looked at the bottle with a grimace of distaste before snatching it from Sam's hand. He pretended not to see Sam's smirk. There should be a law against little brothers being able to say "I told you so" to their older, far superior siblings.

Sam ran his eyes over the ground one last time and shook his head. "I don't see anything else. Maybe farther up." He walked towards the point where the animal trail continued up the mountain and stopped to look back at Dean expectantly.

Dean eyed the narrow dirt path that his brother was so eager to climb and his blood ran cold. He moved his finger in a little circle and Sam immediately turned around so that Dean could drop the water bottle into the top of the backpack. He took his time with the zipper, drawing out his chance to untangle his thinking without his brother staring at him.

"I'm not sure this path is the smartest way to the top. It's narrow and we're going to need our hands to climb," Dean finally said.

Sam turned and looked at him in amazement. Dean avoided his eyes, instead searching the perimeter of trees around them for the grizzly, wolf, psycho bambi…whatever. He was afraid that if they locked eyes, Sam would see the fear.

It didn't matter how capable he knew Sam was, or even how many times Sam had pulled Dean's ass out of the fire. Dean lived with the unending fear of not being able to save his little brother. He'd always been able to stash that fear in a little closet in the back of his mind. Never let it get in his way. Until Chicago. He had failed miserably in Chicago and almost lost everything. The thought caused a breathless rush of dread that hit like a punch to the chest. He had always been so damn sure that he was up to the task of protecting Sam. But now…

Sam narrowed his eyes and looked at Dean from under lowered brows, his head cocked to the side. He looked as though he was trying to figure out when, exactly, the pod people had stolen his brother. "Dude, what's the alternative?" he asked impatiently, "That?" Sam pointed at the tangle of bushes next to them. "We wouldn't know the wolf was there until we tripped over it." He shook his head. "I say we keep going."

The kid was right of course. The animal path was the lesser of the two evils. "Okay," Dean said grudgingly "but you know the drill. Any tricky parts we do one at a time and watch each others backs."

He didn't understand the hurt look that flashed across his brother's face, or the slight hesitation before Sam's soft reply. "Yeah, I know the drill. Don't worry Dean. I promise I'll watch your back." Sam turned and started up the path, his shoulders slumped

Dean stared after him for a moment, wondering what he had missed.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The follower padded softly through the forest, staying hidden. These two piqued his interest. Their voices held no fear, and he had edged forward enough to see their shapes through the trees, wondering what manner of men they were. He had expected them to run like frightened children when he had announced his presence, but instead they had joined together and he could feel the cold menace they exuded. They looked more like predators than prey. He withdrew deeper into the cover of the brush until he was only catching occasional glimpses of them.

When they did finally begin to move away they did not falter or become clumsy in their haste to get away from him. In response to his threat there was a powerful new grace to their movements, smooth coordination and protectiveness.

The taller one had been blocked from his view until they started to move. For a brief moment he got a clearer glimpse of the tall _biligaana_ with dark hair. Heat flooded his veins and the first stirrings of unease began to tickle the back of his mind.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The animal path veered away from the water and began to level out as they neared the top. The tension in Sam's shoulders eased when he finally emerged onto the Appalachian Trail. He had a feeling that the animal path and the switchbacked trail had diverged a lot more than they expected and they now had a hike in front of them. This section of the AT was fairly wide and flat, surrounded by widely spaced trees. Charred marks around the bases of the trees were reminders of a past fire that had cleared out the excessive undergrowth.

A painted white rectangle was easily visible on one of the trees lining the trail, and Sam was surprised at the quick pang of longing that went through his chest at the sight. The white blaze was the well known trail marking used on the AT from Maine to Georgia. The last time he had seen it he had been with Jess.

Both brothers had been quiet during the climb. As hard as he tried to keep his concentration on the hunt and figuring out what they were facing, Sam's thoughts kept returning to his brother's strange behavior. He just didn't get it. Continuing up the animal path had been a no-brainer, and yet Dean had hesitated. It was the type of thing that wouldn't even have required discussion before Chicago. Since when did Dean have to explain SOPs to him? Had Dean's faith in him sunk so low that he wasn't even sure he could trust Sam to watch his back?

The trail was wide enough in this section for them to walk side by side and Dean fell into step beside him. "So, you been thinking about it?" he asked. "That freaky brain of yours come up with any ideas yet?"

Sam stared at the trail in front of his feet, lost in thought for a minute. He could feel the impatience coming off of Dean in waves. His older brother was perfectly capable of figuring these things out for himself, but since they had started traveling together he had fallen into the habit of relying on Sam's "freaky brain".

"If we start with the assumption that we're dealing with a shapeshifter who can take on more than one form, then that leaves out any of the wereanimals," Sam started.

"Well we already knew that because—" Dean made a face but fell silent when Sam held a hand up, trying to preserve his train of thought.

"So far, we're pretty sure it can take the form of a wolf and a bear, and berserkers are known to take those two specific forms, but berserkers are also known for mindless violence. Susan Macy would not have just disappeared." That she would have been found in little pieces was left unsaid. "And there's something else I think we have to consider. How many times have we seen true coincidences in this job?"

Dean snorted. "_True_ coincidences? How about never?"

"That's right, never," Sam agreed. "Think about it Dean. Susan disappears just as she's about to blow the lid off of this? She was no random victim."

The older hunter stopped walking. He had been scanning the woods around them regularly as they moved, but now he looked at Sam with his eyes narrowed in concentration. "So you're saying that the shapeshifter knew she was a threat." 

"Yeah! It had to!"

Dean's eyes did a more thoughtful circuit of the forest around them. He tugged Sam's arm to urge him to keep moving. "So unless Susan was doing a Dr. Doolittle and telling all of her plans to the animals, then whatever this is can also take human form. Chrissie said Susan was warning people off of the trail. I guess the wrong person was listening."

Sam gave a quick nod and rolled his shoulders trying to ease the tension that was rapidly building in his neck. "Dean, I know what it is," he said, his voice deepening with conviction. "We've got a skinwalker on our hands. It all fits."

Dean gave him a sharp look but didn't stop moving. "Dude, we're in West Virginia. I've never heard of a skinwalker east of the Mississippi."

"Like there are no Wendigos in Colorado?" Sam asked, smirking. He glanced over his shoulder as a chill worked down his spine.

"A skinwalker," Dean conceded with a sigh. "This is gonna be a bitch," he grumbled.

Goosebumps erupted on Sam's arms and he stopped dead on the trail, his ears straining. He turned a complete circle as his right hand found the gun under the hem of his T shirt and smoothly slid it loose. Its weight was a solid comfort in his hand. Next to him his brother didn't waste any time before following his lead. Dean placed his hand on the gun tucked into the concealed holster against the small of his back.

Sam was glad no questions were asked. He really couldn't explain why he had suddenly felt danger pressing in so closely around them.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The follower bared his teeth in a silent growl and slunk backwards, deeper into the brush that he had been about to launch himself out of. His red eyes remained fastened on the two men on the trail above him, the hair along his back bristling in outrage.

He had been following the sound of their voices. He could not make out all of their words, but one word stood out clearly. "Skinwalker." These ignorant _biligaana_ did not know any better than to speak his name aloud. The _Diné_ knew better than to say the name of the _yee naadlooshii_.

His anger had been swift and all consuming. He was graced with exceptional speed in this form, powerful muscles and viciously sharp teeth. A burst of speed and he would have been on them, eliminating this new threat. It would have been much messier than he liked, but necessary.

The thrill of the coming kill had filled him and his mouth had flooded with saliva. Then he saw them both clearly for the first time and his eyes were drawn to the tall one. Surprise made him hesitate long enough for guns to appear in their hands. Normally the guns would not have deterred him. But these two… They moved with practiced coordination. Together they were more than just the sum of their two parts. They could be dangerous to him in his current form.

He would study them, and he would attempt to separate them.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

"Spidey senses tingling?" Dean asked quietly.

Sam gave a subtle shudder and nodded. His hand slowly began to drop so that the gun pointed at the ground and he rubbed the back of his neck with his other hand. "It's better now, though. Something just felt…wrong. Know what I mean?"

"Hey man, we've all been there. It's part of hunting. Kind of sixth sense you develop." Dean looked at Sam and smirked. "Although in your case, Kreskin, I think it might be like your ninth sense or something."

"Ha Ha," Sam answered dryly. "Let's get going. I don't know how much farther it is before we can start down."

"I say now that we know he's here, we go down and get what we need, and then get back up here and smoke his ass," Dean said with quiet determination.

The boys walked in a staggered formation, Sam watching the front while Dean covered the rear. Their guns were held in relaxed but sure grips at their sides, ready to be tucked out of sight if other hikers appeared.

"So Dean, did you and Dad ever hunt a skinwalker when I was…away?" Sam hesitated to even ask. He didn't like bringing up the time period when he was away at college because he was never sure which Dean would respond. The "I'm proud of you for going after what you wanted" Dean, or the "You know what Sam? You're a selfish son of a bitch" Dean.

The thrill of the upcoming hunt must have been working its magic. Dean answered matter-of-factly, with no unpleasant undercurrent.

"I didn't, but Dad did. Once. Out in New Mexico. Dude killed a couple of ranchers and was starting to stalk another family when Dad took him out. That was a lot more straightforward than this, though. The skinwalker was in his home territory, not roaming all over the country. Made him a lot easier to track." Dean paused and raised his arm, using the sleeve of his T shirt to wipe at the sweat on the side of his face. "The one we got here?" Dean shook his head in confusion. "I don't get it, man. He's pretty far from his sacred mountains. He's out in the daytime instead of just at night. And why's he going after strangers? They normally only go after people they have a grudge against. He's not following any of the usual patterns."

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "Skinwalkers aren't really supernatural beings. They're powerful witches…people. And people can be unpredictable."

"Which is why we've got to go after him today, before he decides to blow this popsicle stand. If we don't get him now it's going to be a bitch tracking him down again." Dean pushed past Sam, setting a new, faster pace.

The AT began to angle downward so that they were no longer on the tree covered crest of the mountain. Instead of the ground falling away gently on either side of them, it now fell away more steeply on their right while it rose quickly on their left. The trees and underbrush were steadily thickening on both sides.

"Keep your eyes open for an opening onto the side trail, it can't be much further," Sam reminded Dean.

"There's some kind of opening up here," Dean called over his shoulder.

Dean stepped out of the trees into the sunshine and stopped dead. The trees ended abruptly and the trail continued into the open air, taking the form of a ledge hugging the rock face that fronted the mountain for the next two hundred feet or so. "I take it this isn't what you meant," he muttered as he moved a few feet into the open.

An impressive wall of stone rose up on the left side of the ledge. In some sections it was made up of stacked boulders, while other sections were smooth and so steep they were almost vertical. Painted white blazes were dotted along the wall, claiming the wide ledge as part of the AT. The right side of the ledge fell off into a precipitous slope, barren except for some small rock outcroppings and stubby bushes. The sloped section was only about twenty feet wide, beyond that the ground disappeared from view into a sheer drop.

Deep greens blanketed the valley below them, interspersed with picturesque old buildings that could barely be made out from this height. They were so high that the Shenandoah River was little more than a ribbon winding through the valley far below.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The skinwalker nipped at the buck's heels, herding him expertly. He was larger and faster than any wolf in nature, and when he confronted the majestic eight point buck there was no doubt as to whether the deer would choose fight or flight.

The wolf knew every inch of the mountain's trails. The buck presented him with an opportunity to test the _biligaana_, to learn about his enemy, and possibly to destroy them before they left the mountain.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The sun had baked the loose dirt along the exposed trail to a dry dust. It lifted in little puffs around their feet as they moved along the rockface. Whatever breeze had been present earlier had died and the heat reflecting off of the rocks was oppressive.

Dean coughed to clear the dust from his throat and scowled at the Sahara like feel of his mouth. He reached his hand in back of him without even turning around. "Water." He grinned at the sound of his brother's long suffering sigh.

"Hold up," Sam grumbled. "Somebody put it back in the wrong place."

"Must have missed the OCD diagram showing correct water bottle placement," Dean smirked as he turned to watch his brother.

They stopped next to a section of piled boulders and Sam shrugged out of his pack, placing it on a low boulder next to him.

"Dude, how many pockets does that thing have?" Dean asked with amusement as his brother started opening zippers and looking through different compartments for the water.

Sam reached into the pack and pulled out the elusive bottle with a grin. "This was my daypack," he said as he handed the water to Dean. "You should have seen my REAL backpack. It could carry everything I needed to live on the trail for a week."

Dean returned the grin easily as he reached for the bottle. Something loosened in his chest at the sight of his brother's dimples. He hadn't seen them in a while. Maybe this hunt would be good for them. Not that he would ever admit that out loud. "I can't help—"

The water hit the trail between them with a thud at the sound of a loud snort and the snap of broken branches from the edge of the trees in back of them. Dean was sure that his own face matched the incredulous look his brother shot him when a large buck leapt onto the ledge, head back and eyes wide and terrified. Without breaking stride it lowered its head and thundered towards them.

They were caught between the drop-off and the pile of boulders with no escape in either direction. They would never make it to the other end of the rockface and off of the ledge before the large deer was on top of them.

Without conscious thought Dean took a step closer to the edge so that he and Sam could stand side by side on the trail. As one they smoothly pulled the guns that they had tucked away and raised their arms in front of them.

The volley of shots was quick and vicious. The buck staggered under the onslaught, but barely slowed in its forward rush. Dean flashed on every old deer hunter's tale that he had heard growing up about deer who kept moving after a killshot because they were just too wound up to know they were dead.

It was too damn close. This was gonna be bad. He needed that one perfect shot… His vision narrowed to a small tunnel of concentration, blocking out the rest of the world. He saw it. He saw his chance in the instant it presented itself. The buck threw its head back, maybe the start of a death throe, maybe because of their presence directly in front of him, Dean didn't know, didn't care. He squeezed the trigger gently, sending the bullet through the doomed animal's neck and severing its spinal cord.

The buck was close enough to feel the expulsion of breath when it grunted from the hit. It was too close. Dean turned and shoved against his brother's chest with a burst of strength based in pure fear. Sam flew backwards with a wide eyed grunt of surprise, colliding hard with the pile of boulders next to him.

The buck's legs collapsed under him like a puppet whose strings had just been cut. Momentum carried it forward and it skewed to the side, its hindquarters sliding over the edge of the trail. Dean stood with his heart pounding, his arms dangling loosely at his sides as the deer's forward journey ended at his feet. He looked down and suppressed a sudden urge to gulp audibly like some type of cartoon character. The tip of the buck's majestic antlers had stopped mere inches from his stomach.

"Looks like I was right about the psycho Bambi," he said with a shaky smile as he looked up at his brother. He didn't see when the weight of the deer's hindquarters finally tipped the balance and the carcass began to slip over the edge of the trail. It took him a moment to understand why his brother's eyes suddenly got huge, why his brother was reaching for him, shouting his name.

The deer's head flipped sideways as it gathered speed in its fall. The edge of the antlers clipped Dean's ankles and his feet were swept out from under him. He landed hard on his right side and began to slide down the steep slope. His arms flew over his head, reaching for something, anything, to stop his descent. His T shirt began to ride up and the rough stone surface scraped along the skin at his waist and the bare skin on his arm, creating an instant burn that took his breath away.

He felt like his left shoulder was going to pull out of its socket when a large hand grabbed his wrist in a vise like grip, stopping his slide with a jerk. Dean just concentrated on breathing for a moment, taking one shuddery breath and then another. The deer carcass continued to slide, hanging on a small projection for a second before disappearing over the lower rim of the slope with a sudden finality. Okay, not a happy thought that the sound of the buck hitting bottom didn't even reach them.

Dean was still on his right side and he carefully tilted his head back to look up the slope. Sam's head and shoulders were hanging over the edge of the trail. The concentration on his face almost managed to erase the slightly shell shocked look. Their eyes locked and Dean could feel his heartbeat slowing down. Sammy had him. His Sammy was going to get him out of this. Thank God for freakishly large, incredibly strong, absolutely amazing little brothers.

"Dean, I need you to roll onto your back and reach your right arm up to me too. This is going to be a lot easier if I can grab both wrists."

"Are you secure up there, Sam? I don't want to be pulling you over too." It was definitely time to reassert a little bit of older brother control. Probably would have worked a little better if his voice hadn't been quite so…high pitched.

The kid had the nerve to grin at him. "Got my foot wedged between a couple of rocks up here. And you're not dead weight. You're only on a slope. Now give me your right arm."

ONLY ON A SLOPE! Oh, well that clarified things. Why was he worried? It wasn't like he was about to fall a couple thousand feet or anything. He was ONLY ON A SLOPE. He was so gonna kill the kid when he got back up there.

He reached his right arm towards Sam, wincing at the pull on his new collection of scrapes. He was a little surprised to see his gun was still clutched securely in his right hand. And then he became incredibly grateful that years of training had ingrained it into him to never relinquish his weapon. Because the lessons had obviously been lost on his brother.

Dean saw him coming from the moment his sleek form had stealthily loped onto the trail. Tan and grey, the largest wolf Dean had ever seen. His lips were pulled back in a silent snarl and his eyes were fixed on Sam.

"Sam!" He tried to pull his left wrist out of Sam's grasp, to give his brother a chance to grab his gun, get up, do some damn thing to protect himself.

Sam glanced to the side and Dean felt the grip on his wrist spasm tighter. His brother looked down at him and set his jaw and Dean could see it in his face. He wasn't going to let go. He was just going to leave himself laid out for that hairy freak to attack and just hope he could pull Dean to safety first. Sam ignored the wolf and tried to grab Dean's right wrist with his other hand.

No way. There was just no way. The wolf was too damn fast. Sam might be able to yank Dean up with one quick pull, but he wouldn't have time to defend himself. The wolf would be at Sam's throat.

In desperation Dean yanked his right arm out of Sam's reach before Sam could get a strong grip on that wrist. He threw himself back onto his right side, ignoring the strain on his left shoulder and the grunts from his brother as Sam tried not to lose his grip on Dean's left wrist. With a snarl to match the wolf's, Dean sighted up his arm and pulled the trigger.

He could see chips fly off of the rock wall directly in front of the wolf's nose. The animal skidded to a stop and quickly backed up several feet. It looked down at Dean, its eyes blood red in the sunlight. Dean kept the gun trained on the beast, silently daring it to take a step forward as Sam hauled him upward. He struggled to hold the gun steady, keeping his eyes locked on the skinwalker as the movement scraped new abrasions over the original collection.

Then Sam had his arm wrapped around Dean's chest and pulled him to a sitting position on the trail. Dean's eyes never left the wolf, who had continued to back farther down the trail with each inch of Dean's upward progress, until he finally turned and trotted off into the underbrush.

Dean shrugged Sam's arm off of him as soon as his butt was solidly on the trail and whispered harshly. "Get your goddamn gun, Sam. Now."

Sam blinked in surprise and reached around to his back waistband, withdrawing the gun.

"That son of a bitch was studying us," Dean muttered.

Sam pushed himself to his feet and reached a hand down to his brother. Dean allowed Sam to pull him up and grimaced as he put his weight on his right leg. His hip was going to have some impressive bruising where he had landed on it.

He could feel Sam staring at him but he kept his eyes fixed on the spot where the wolf had disappeared as he took a couple of tentative steps to be sure there was no serious damage. Once he knew that standing and walking would not be a problem he tucked his gun into his waistband and finally looked up at his brother. He raised his hands to Sam's chest in a move that looked deceptively gentle until he made contact.

Dean's hands fisted in the front of Sam's shirt and he propelled Sam harshly into the stone in back of him. He kept his weight on his brother's chest and pushed his face in close as he exploded. "What the HELL did you think you were doing?! He HAD you Sammy! Do you GET that?! He freaking HAD you!" He shook Sam as he yelled, tears of rage filling his eyes. "You just LAID THERE! Offering yourself up like some kind of GOD DAMN Sammy dinner buffet!" He watched the emotions fly across Sam's face, the shock, the hurt, the anger, and he just couldn't stop himself.

Sam brought his hands up between Dean's forearms and pushed apart, breaking his brother's grip. "Back off, Dean! Now!" Where Dean's voice had been loud enough to echo from the valley below, Sam's was the opposite. It was dangerously quiet, cold and ragged. "What the hell is your problem?"

"My problem?! Were you TRYING to get yourself killed?! Because our friend was real close to taking you up on your offer!"

"What was I supposed to do, Dean? Let you fall? Then after I was done with the skinwalker I could have brought a trash bag up to pick up your pieces wherever you landed? Is that what I was supposed to do?"

Dean's voice dropped a few decibels, but it still trembled with rage. "You could have kept your gun in one hand…you could have trusted me to take care of myself…" He pointed to the few projections and shrubs on the slope as though it was a given that he would have been able to use one of them to stop himself. "I'm not an amateur here Sam! I've managed to take care of myself in worse situations than this before! Offering yourself up was not an option! It is NEVER an option! If I hadn't gotten a shot off…" He turned his back to Sam and worked to control his breathing. This could not be happening again. When had keeping his brother safe started to get so completely outside of his control?

"Good thing I had you here to save my butt, huh Dean?" Sam said with tired sarcasm.

He heard Sam moving in back of him, had heard the sound enough times that day to know Sam was grabbing his backpack, putting it on. Dean ran his hand through his hair and turned to face his brother, the fear of what could have happened plain for Sam to see. If he had been looking. But Sam was already walking away.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The wolf trotted back along the trail. He had no further need to follow the _biligaana_. He had seen that they were strong and skilled. There were stories told among his people of men such as this. They were hunters.

It was time to leave this area. People were becoming too cautious, too suspicious. It was time to move on. He didn't fear losing the prey he so suddenly desired. They would track him. The hunters could be dangerous so it would be better to deal with them on his terms. He would pick the hunting grounds…and then he would draw them to him.

-SN-SN-SN-

_biligaana_ – Caucasians, non-Navajo

_Diné_ 'The People', the Navajo people

_yee nadlooshii_ "beings that travel on four legs", Skinwalkers


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**: Once again thank you for the kind reviews. I was nervous about posting this story since it's my first long fic for Supernatural, my first fic on a public forum in years, and my first ever on FFnet. And to all the super wonderful, encouraging, funny, 'I know you have my back' people on the SFTCOL(AR)S board—you all RAWK!

Things slow down a bit again in this chapter, just a bit more plot development, but don't worry, they'll be heating up soon.

**Disclaimer**: I've put them on my Christmas list, but Santa hasn't come through yet.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

From Chapter 2:

… "_I'm not an amateur here Sam! I've managed to take care of myself in worse situations than this before! Offering yourself up was not an option! It is NEVER an option! If I hadn't gotten a shot off…" He turned his back to Sam and worked to control his breathing. This could not be happening again. When had keeping his brother safe started to get so completely outside of his control?_

"_Good thing I had you here to save my butt, huh Dean?" Sam said with tired sarcasm._

_He heard Sam moving in back of him, had heard the sound enough times that day to know Sam was grabbing his backpack, putting it on. Dean ran his hand through his hair and turned to face his brother, the fear of what could have happened plain for Sam to see. If he had been looking. But Sam was already walking away._

**Hozho Chapter 3**

The spur trail was only ten feet past the end of the rockface and the brothers were emerging in back of the café within twenty minutes. They could have been there sooner, but Sam purposely kept his pace slower than normal. Dean wasn't complaining, but a slight limp he couldn't hide and an occasional muffled curse gave away his discomfort.

Dean had made a couple of half hearted attempts at starting a conversation during the descent, but Sam had shut them down quickly with one word replies. Sam was familiar with the pattern. The adrenalin had worn off and Dean was already regretting venting his true feelings. Now it was time to make nice and pretend it never happened. Dean just didn't get it. Sometimes you couldn't unring the bell. Sam had never been able to turn denial into an art form like his brother.

Sam's anger had already faded, a tired sadness left in its wake. His head ached from being pushed into the rocks by his brother, not once, but twice. Something had been slowly trickling down the back of his neck for the past fifteen minutes but he refused to lift his hand to see if it was sweat or blood. He would rather ignore it than deal with Dean's ministrations if it was blood.

It was only a little after 6:00, but the lot was empty except for the Impala. Chrissie had apparently been true to her word, closing early.

"There should be a store in town where we can grab a bite and pick up some supplies before we go back," Dean said as he walked around to the driver's side.

Sam looked at him across the roof of the car with his eyebrows raised. "You're kidding, right? Dean, we are not going back up there tonight."

Dean scowled across the car. "What are you talking about, Sam? I thought that was the plan."

"Look, you said it yourself, man. He's not following any of the normal patterns. He was studying us. He's smart, Dean. We go back up there tonight, either he'll never let us get anywhere near him, or he has a grand old time letting us chase him around a mountain all night. We don't even know if we'd still be looking for a wolf."

"So what are you proposing? We pack it in and just call him 'the one that got away'?"

Sam laid his forearms on the top of the car, wincing when his elbows came in contact with the hot metal. "No, but I think we should do some research. Come up with a plan. Maybe figure out who he is. Remember, he's a person for a lot of the day."

Dean sighed but then gave his brother a grudging smile. "So if we can't track him as an animal, we try to track him as a human."

"Exactly. First, we know he's got a car or truck." Sam began ticking items off on raised fingers.

"Of course we know that," Dean said confidently. "We know that because…because…" He cast a sideways look at Sam.

"Because of the pelts. Skinwalkers use animal pelts as part of their transformation. I doubt he's hiking down the AT with a grizzly pelt stuffed in his backpack. God knows how many pelts he actually has. He's got to have a car or something. So we can start checking into the reports from earlier incidents to see if the same individual or vehicle shows up at more than one incident."

"We should talk to that Gus fellow, too," Dean added. "He might have seen something that night."

"And I think we should find out everything we can about skinwalkers. You said Dad hunted one…maybe his journal will mention some contacts we can talk to."

"So you want to start with Gus the Hardware Man?" Dean looked hopeful as he pulled open the car door and climbed in.

Sam heard a muffled curse from the driver's seat as soon as he opened his own door. Dean was gingerly trying to adjust his position to put the least amount of pressure on his right hip while also keeping the abraded skin on the right side of his waist off of the hot car seat. Sam eyed the scrapes covering Dean's arm and listened to a couple more rounds of cursing before he started shaking his head. "No, I don't want to start with Gus tonight. Tonight we start with a motel. I've got a hot date with the laptop, and you've got a hot date with a can of Bactine and an ice pack."

Dean turned the key and the growl of the Impala's engine filled the space between them. Sam snuck a hand to the back of his head while Dean's attention was fixed on maneuvering the large car out onto the road. He winced when his fingers skimmed a tender spot. Luckily there was no blood on his fingertips when he dropped his hand back to his lap. Just sweat then.

"Dean." He said it quietly, but he saw Dean's hands tense on the wheel.

"Yeah?"

"When we were up on the trail—"

"Yeah, look, about that," Dean was slumped in his seat with his right hand draped casually over the top of the wheel, staring forward as he drove. He didn't even look at his brother when he interrupted him. "I may have overreacted a little, but you scared the crap out of me Sammy. You can't do that, man. You can't forget the basics in the heat of the moment. That could have gone real bad up there."

Sam's head drew back and he looked at his brother in disbelief. "Overreacted a little?! Dean, man, you were channeling Dad! I didn't have any good choices up there! I may not have done what you or Dad would've, but I did what I thought was right. And I'd do it the same way again!"

"Don't start on Dad. When he acts like that it's for your own good. He doesn't want to see you getting yourself killed by doing something stupid."

This conversation was getting nowhere fast. Once Dean went into full blown 'defend Dad' mode, he wouldn't hear anything else that Sam had to say. Sam held his hand up in a gesture of surrender. "I'm not gonna argue with you Dean. I just want to make sure you understand where I'm coming from." He ignored Dean's theatrical sigh. "You're my brother, and I am never gonna stand by and let you get hurt…let you die…if there's anything I can do to stop it. No matter what. As far as I'm concerned, letting go of you up there was not an option."

He sat back and waited for the sarcastic comment that he was sure was coming. He was surprised when Dean blew out a long breath and ran his left hand through his hair instead. Damn if it didn't look like Dean's hand had a little shake to it.

"Sammy, do you know why I didn't just shoot the son of a bitch up there? When I had the gun on him, when you were pulling me up? When that gun was the only thing keeping him off of you?"

Sam looked at Dean in confusion. "I figured you just didn't have a good angle to get a clear shot off."

"No, after I rushed that first shot to stop him, I got a pretty good bead on him. Damn near perfect. But you see, Dad taught me a long time ago. Count your shots. Don't ever let an empty chamber take you by surprise. I counted my shots up there, Sam." He shook his head with a wry grin, his eyes staring at the road in front of them. "I didn't shoot him because I couldn't. I was out of bullets." He paused and took his eyes off of the road in front of him to look at Sam as he spoke. There was no trace of the smile left on his face. "If he had come after you there wouldn't have been a damn thing I could've done to stop him, Sammy. Not a damn thing."

Jess had often told Sam that he had expressive eyes. He could win an argument with a look. Personally, he didn't think he could hold a candle to his older brother in that category. In unguarded moments Sam could read the world in his brother's eyes. The pain, the confusion, the soul shattering fear that he saw in Dean's eyes at that moment shook him to his core.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Monroe Hardware sat in the middle of the block on one of the main drags in town. The hardware store was a low brick building sporting weathered lettering above a long window. It was easy to spot, a no nonsense working hardware store vying for attention against the bistros and galleries that always sprang up when an area suddenly became 'trendy'.

Dean stopped in his tracks as soon as they stepped into the old store and took a deep breath, letting it out in a contented sigh. There was nothing like the smell of an old fashioned hardware store. A rich mix of odors that you couldn't find anywhere else. Oils and bug sprays and fresh wood and leather and metal…He hadn't even met him yet, but he definitely liked this guy.

"This isn't the store you want." The gruff voice came from a gray haired man sitting on a stool behind a long glass counter. His attention was focused on a catalogue in front of him and the pencil he was using to make notes in its margins. "I don't carry hiking supplies or kayak paddles or picnic baskets or GPS's. You just head up the street to The Back Room, or The Pack Room, or whatever the hell it's called. I'm sure they'll have what you're looking for in there," he continued, still without looking up.

Dean flashed Sam a quick smirk as they approached the counter. Yep, he liked this guy.

The man sighed and leaned back on the stool, crossing his arms over his chest. They rested on top of the bowling ball shaped belly that strained the buttons of his blue work shirt. He stared up at them silently, not hiding his impatience at the interruption as he waggled the pencil still in his right hand. A small TV tuned to a morning news program sat on a wooden counter behind him, next to a well used Mr. Coffee. Even though it was barely eight a.m. Dean noticed that the carafe was almost empty.

Standing this close Dean could see the dark rings under the man's pale blue eyes. He had once been a powerfully built man, but time had softened the edges and added a little extra padding. He gave Dean a quick once over and then turned his attention to Sam. His eyes stayed a little too long on Sam's long hair.

"Gus Monroe?" Sam's sincere tone would probably have had Mary Monroe's heart fluttering. It had decidedly less effect on her husband.

Gus looked up at them and pursed his lips before turning his attention to Dean. "He's a bright one, ain't he?" The pencil that had been waving back and forth in his hand was now tapping steadily on his chest above the left shirt pocket. "Gus Monroe" was plainly embroidered there in black thread.

Out of the corner of his eye Dean could see Sam's eyes widen in surprise, and he didn't try to hide his smile. He held his hand over the counter offering a handshake. "Mr. Monroe, I'm Dean Kinney and this is my brother Sam."

Gus put the pencil down and reluctantly rose to his feet. He took the proffered hand and gave it a strong shake. His eyes skimmed over the raw looking scrapes on Dean's arm as he released his hand, but he didn't comment other than a sympathetic wince. "Been expectin' you. I talked to little Chrissie last night. For some reason she seemed to think you two might be able to find out what happened to Susie. You certainly couldn't do no worse than the fools who've been investigating it so far. Couldn't find their damn butts if I drew them a map."

"We're gonna try, sir," Sam said simply.

"What can you tell us about that night?" Dean questioned.

"Not much more than I know Chrissie already told you. I didn't see nothing strange when I was there with Susie. We visited for a bit and everything seemed normal. Nobody hanging around, nothing what you'd call 'suspicious'. Even when I left, I didn't see anything, I didn't hear anything. If I had just waited for her…" Gus trailed off and looked down at the counter, giving a heavy shrug.

"What about in the days before that? Anybody unfamiliar hanging around, any cars that seemed out of place?"

Gus nodded approvingly at the question. "I gave this info to the police, but I got the impression that they didn't pay it no mind. That night, after I left Susie, there was a white truck parked at one of the trailheads near the café. It had a couple of years on it, looked a little banged up. Definitely wasn't one of those fancy yuppie-mobiles that the tourists drive. But the thing is, I know all the local's trucks. I'd know if somebody local owned it. I notice that kind of stuff and it struck me as odd."

"Maybe they were just camping up on the mountain?" Dean asked.

"Now that's the thing," Gus said. "First off, there ain't no good camping spots anywhere near where that truck was parked. And it got there too late for them to have hiked to one, because it sure as hell wasn't there when I was headed **to** Susie's. And, boys, I'm pretty damn sure that same truck was parked at the café the day before Susie disappeared."

"What kind of truck was it? Did you see the driver?" Dean threw the questions out quickly, eager for information.

"White Chevy, extended cab, looked like a full size bed. Had a camper cap on the back." Gus looked at the ceiling for a moment, lost in thought. "I'd guess mid to late 90s. Oh, and it had that offroad package. Had those 'z71' decals on the sides. I noticed it because my brother-in-law had one like it. First time I seen it at Susie's I thought maybe the worthless bastard had snuck back into town. But Riley didn't have the extended cab. Never did see the driver."

Dean leaned against the counter and continued quizzing Gus. He didn't notice when Sam moved a couple of feet away and began staring intently at the small television.

"Dean," Sam said softly and waved his hand to draw his brother closer. He pointed to the TV and Gus obligingly reached over and raised the volume.

"It's only a matter of time till it happens here if we don't get no damn rain," Gus said. Dean looked at him uncomprehendingly and the store owner explained. "Forest fire down in Shenandoah Park. Started sometime yesterday. This drought's been hitting hard through the whole region."

"Is it close to here?" Dean asked.

"Maybe 'bout an hour or two's drive."

Sam held a finger up to get Dean's attention and pointed to the screen as the scene changed from a studio talking head to a reporter standing in front of a collection of official looking vehicles. _"Thank You, Mark. For years there have been rumors that mountain lions still live hidden in a remote wilderness area of the park. After last night's tragic events, some park officials now think those rumors are true."_

The camera zoomed in on the vehicles, parked against a backdrop of dense woods. _"At a little after midnight last night, three horses were attacked and brutally killed near their owners' campsite close to the Big Run horse trail here in the park. Officials at the scene are not giving out many details yet, but they seem to be focusing on the theory that a mountain lion is to blame. Some here are speculating that the 'Hangman Fire' drove the big cat out of the wilderness area where it has lived quietly until now, placing it on a collision course with the thousands of visitors who come to the park in the late summer. Also at risk will be the Forest Service firefighting crews who are expected to start arriving in the area later today, and will be working in the wilderness area. Virginia Fish and Wildlife will be bringing in experts to try to track the animal. Officials are urging caution, but at this time all trails and park facilities remain open."_

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

"I just don't think it was necessary," Dean sulked for the tenth time. He slouched down in the driver's seat as two attractive young women walked by the car. The Impala was parked in front of the Loft Wayside and Gift shop, a small diner and store located near the Loft Mountain campground inside Shenandoah National Park.

"Dean, there's no access to most of the park unless we hike in. Between the fire and the attack there's gonna be people from a dozen government agencies crawling all over the place. You couldn't just throw the duffel over your shoulder, and look the way you did, and not expect to get noticed!"

"What's wrong with the way I looked?" Dean asked, insulted.

"There's nothing wrong with the way you looked, but you didn't look like a hiker," Sam soothed.

"I think I looked good," Dean muttered, "that look works for me." He twisted his lips into an expression somewhere between embarrassment and disgust. "C'mon, man!" he whined. "I look like a geek!"

Sam breathed out a barely patient sigh. "If we blend in it'll be a lot easier to do what we need to do. Just think of it as a cover."

"I feel like Eddie Bauer threw up on me!"

Sam hung his head for a second, shaking it slowly. He looked back up with his face screwed up in exasperation. "Dude, you're being ridiculous! Are you coming in or am I doing this myself?" Sam didn't wait for an answer. He swung the Impala's passenger door open and climbed out.

Dean followed reluctantly, trying not to look down at the new apparel purchased before they entered the park. He had to admit the new hiking shoes were comfortable. Sam swore that once Dean got used to them he'd be addicted. Personally he couldn't see himself getting used to shoes with little trees on them. The pants…the pants he didn't want to think about. Light weight, loose, tan, with strings and toggles he still hadn't figured out. And did a person really need that many pockets? The only plus he could see was that the roomy fit easily hid the concealed holsters both men wore. The holsters definitely chafed under jeans.

He reluctantly followed his brother into the building and groaned inwardly when he immediately spotted the two women who had passed the car. Sam stopped at a rack of books and maps and Dean edged close to him, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible.

Sam just shook his head and stepped away suddenly, heading towards the register with a couple of maps in his hand. His brother's desertion left Dean face to face with the two women. Tanned, one blonde, one brunette, long hair back in ponytails, loooong tanned legs stretching from their cute little hiking shorts down to their cute little hiking boots… He didn't think those tank tops were regulation hiking gear. And he looked like a trail geek. He snapped a map open and buried his face in it.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the blonde nudge the brunette with her elbow and he squeezed his eyes shut waiting for the humiliating snickers to begin.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Sam traced a finger along the trail sketched over the swirls and symbols of the topographic map spread out on the table in front of him. Dean pulled the chair across from him away from the table and plopped down onto it without a word. He leaned back with his legs stretched out in front of him and his arms crossed loosely over his chest before staring at Sam with a supremely cocky grin.

"What." Sam said it flatly, not even looking up from the map. It was more of a demand for information than a question.

"I'm here to tell you Sammy, the old phrase is wrong. Clothes don't make the man, the man makes the clothes. I even manage to make this getup look good." He flicked his hand and a piece of paper with two phone numbers on it appeared between his fingers. He leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. "Dude! Hiking chicks are hot!"

"That's nice, Dean," Sam said distractedly, switching his attention from the topo map to a printed campground layout. "Glad you put your time to good use while I was getting the info we need. It's after one o'clock. I ordered food for us, it should be here in a few minutes."

Dean rolled his eyes and Sam thought he heard a quiet mutter about all work and no play making Sammy a pain in the ass, but he decided to ignore it. "So what did you find out?" Dean asked, maneuvering his chair so that he could see the papers in front of his brother.

"Here's where we are, the Loft Wayside." Sam pointed to a small mark directly on Skyline Drive, the scenic road that wound roughly north/south and skimmed along the top of the mountains through the length of Shenandoah Park. He pointed to a horse trail on the west side of the drive. It stretched for miles, following the meandering course of a large stream as it cut between several mountains. "The stream is the Big Run. The riders were camping here, along the Big Run Portal Trail. This whole area west of the drive is wilderness."

"So we eat and then we head over to the site of the attack and check it out."

"It's not going to be that easy," Sam sighed. "The state sent a couple of teams in to track the cat." Dean snorted and Sam gave him a brief smile. "I'm not worried about them. Here's the problem." He pointed to a mountain that bordered the Big Run to the south. "Rockytop. This is where the fire is. Winds are pushing the fire to the North, towards the Big Run. Fire crews got here this morning. They're using the Big Run to set up a fire line, clearing away vegetation and setting backfires."

"So there won't be anything left for us to see." Dean said glumly. "Any ideas?"

Sam squinted his eyes and looked at the map. "Yeah, I think I might. The truck has to be parked somewhere. But, Dean, look at the map. Skyline Drive is the only road in the park. There's no side roads except for the ones that come up from the valley at the park entrances, and there are only a few of them. The closest are Swift Run Gap where we came in, fifteen miles north of here, and Rockfish Gap, twenty-five miles south of here."

"What about outside the Park? Couldn't he have just parked on a public road out there and then come up on foot…paws…whatever?" Dean scowled briefly as he tried to figure out the correct terminology.

"It's possible, but I don't think it fits. The attack was relatively close to Skyline Drive. If he's leaving the truck outside the park why come so far into the interior? There are a lot of isolated homes and farms in the valley."

"Fine. The truck's in the park. It's a big park, Sam."

"A big park with limited places to park overnight without drawing attention. Anybody camping in the wilderness area is supposed to get a permit. The rangers sometimes check the cars left at the trailheads overnight, see if they match up with a permit."

Dean nodded his head as understanding dawned. "They run the plates."

"Yeah, and this guy is smart. I don't think he's going to take that chance. But look at this." Sam pointed to a spot on the map close to the Wayside. "Loft mountain campground. You pick your own spot, very informal registration, nobody taking a close look at the truck or its plates." He placed the campground layout in front of Dean. "Those spots along the outside have a lot of privacy. And the AT loops around the campground, goes right by them."

"Huh. His favorite hunting grounds." Dean looked up at Sam and grinned.

"Worth checking out." Sam's eyes dropped to the map and he began to pick at the edge of the paper nervously. "Dean, have you thought about what we do if we find him there? Sitting by his truck grilling a burger?" He looked back up at his brother with a questioning expression.

"Horsemeat burger?"

"C'mon Dean, I'm serious here. We can't just walk in and waste him. He's a man."

"He's not a man, Sam. The dude's a monster," Dean looked at him with a frown.

"You know what I mean, Dean."

"No, I really don't Sam. Where are you going with this? He's killed people, Sammy. He tried to kill us."

Sam didn't answer. Quite honestly, he didn't know where he was going with it. He just knew that killing a man like that felt…wrong. Stomach churning, losing a big chunk of your soul, wrong.

"I don't get it," Dean said, starting to sound frustrated. "We've…YOU'VE hunted werewolves before, right? And hell, I could argue that werewolves are more innocent than the skinwalker. Werewolves don't seek out the curse that causes their transformations, and they have no control over their actions when they change. How do you justify killing them to yourself?"

Sam couldn't really answer that. He didn't know how he justified it. It was the kind of question that had driven him to try to escape from hunting. But he did see one distinction between the two cases. "Dean, we've never hunted and killed a werewolf when it was in its human form. And every time I can think of, we were pretty much at the kill or be killed portion of the evening."

"Look, are you going to have a problem with this? Tell me now, before we end up in trouble. You can't be having second thoughts when we're on a hunt, Sam. That's how people get killed."

Sam clenched his jaw, trying to control a sudden surge of anger. "I think I can manage to act like a professional, Dean. My point is, even if we find some guy in the actual driver's seat of this truck, we have no way of knowing…of REALLY knowing, if he's the skinwalker. And if we kill the wrong guy? That's cold blooded murder. And WE'RE the monsters!" His voice was a low hiss.

Dean sighed heavily and closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead. He reopened them and gave Sam a steady look. "Okay, Sam. If we find him and he's hanging out as Joe Human, then we just watch him. We follow him." He leaned towards Sam and spoke with quiet deadliness. "But make no mistake about it. I see him change, I waste him. I'm not gonna dangle one of us in front of him and wait for him to attack. I'm not giving him a chance to hurt anybody else if I can help it."

Sam held his brother's gaze without flinching and gave a quick nod. It was a compromise he could live with.

**-**SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**A/N**: As a side note, if you ever want to read a truly funny tale about what it is like to through hike on the Appalachian Trail, be sure to check out Bill Bryson's A Walk in the Woods.

I will attempt to get Chapter 4 posted before I go away on Friday morning. I think things heat up nicely in it.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**: Your kind reviews perked me up and helped me to get this chapter ready to post. And believe me, after two days of cooking and a heaping helping of turkey, I needed the boost. Thank you so much for your support and input.

Happy Thanksgiving! I counted my wonderful online friends among my blessings today.

**Disclaimer**: Another blessing I counted today was the fact that even though I don't own them, I still get to play with them.

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From Chapter 3:

_Dean sighed heavily and closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead. He reopened them and gave Sam a steady look. "Okay, Sam. If we find him and he's hanging out as Joe Human then we just watch him. We follow him." He leaned towards Sam and spoke with quiet deadliness. "But make no mistake about it. I see him change, I waste him. I'm not gonna dangle one of us in front of him and wait for him to attack. I'm not giving him a chance to hurt anybody else if I can help it."_

_Sam held his brother's gaze without flinching and gave a quick nod. It was a compromise he could live with._

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**Hozho Chapter 4**

Sam felt it as soon as he stepped out of the Impala in the camp store parking area. A tingle along the back of his neck that made him want to roll his shoulders. He did a slow sweep of the area before walking back to join Dean by the trunk. Nothing suspicious jumped out at him, but it was tough to really take everything in. The area was bustling. Men and women dressed in the green pants and yellow shirts that were standard issue for wildland fire crews were scattered around the area, talking and laughing. Vehicles of all types streamed steadily past on the road exiting the campground. The animal attack and haze of brown smoke in the sky to the west were a little too much excitement for some vacationers.

Their stop at the outdoors store before entering the park had yielded more than new clothes. Sam reached into the trunk and pulled out a brand new navy blue daypack. He held it up by the shoulder straps so that Dean could just slip his arms in with ease. He should have known better.

"Dude! I'm not a girl!"

Sam looked at the huge packs being lugged around by the female firefighters and started to laugh. "Yeah. Their packs are bigger."

Dean snatched the pack from Sam's hands with a scowl. His attempt at manly grace as he pulled it on was marred by a quick grimace of pain. The scrapes and bruising along his right side were not happy with the movement, and he just left the waist strap dangling.

Sam grabbed his own well worn pack and slipped it on. They had loaded the new pack up in an empty parking lot. The usual assortment of hiking essentials was well supplemented by their own particular brand of necessities. Dean had been thrilled to see just how well some of the pack's pockets stored weaponry. New walkie talkies were clipped to both of their shoulder straps. They were a bit pricey, but Sam had lobbied hard for their purchase. The rough terrain would limit their reception, but they were better than nothing. Cell phone signals were nearly nonexistent in the park. Hell, cell phone signals were spotty in a lot of places they hunted.

They set out at an easy pace, just two hikers exploring their surroundings. The tension between them had dissipated by the time they were done eating, but Sam still felt on edge next to his brother. In the past their arguments had always been just quickly passing storms. Sam tried not to dwell on the fact that over the last few weeks they seemed to be leaving damage in their wake.

"Gus said dark license plates, right?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, like a dark red. Did any of the other reports have more info?"

Sam had made some phone calls and searched through the details of the earlier reports as they drove south from Harpers Ferry, and had turned up three mentions of a white Chevy truck with a cap on the bed. In two of the cases it was mentioned in relation to police attempts to locate possible witnesses, but in one case the unknown driver was referred to as a 'person of interest'. "Massachusetts mentioned a dented front bumper."

The privacy offered by many of the campsites made their job more difficult. They had to maneuver to see past trees and bushes that screened some of the spots, and loop in and out of dirt roads that led back to isolated sites. It was a hot afternoon but the campground was well shaded, and a constant wind from the south moving across the flat mountaintop kept it comfortable. Sam could only imagine what havoc the wind was playing at the fire. He started to relax as his muscles warmed from the exercise and he fell into the well remembered rhythm of walking on a summer afternoon with a pack on his back. He forgot sometimes just how adept his brother could be at reading his moods.

"You did this a lot when you were in school? Hiking?"

Sam hesitated for a moment before answering, but then he smiled softly. "Yeah. Jess grew up near the Cascades and she loved hiking. She kinda turned me on to it. It's amazing how relaxing being on a trail can be when you're not there looking for a wendigo."

"Dude, I'd feel naked in a forest without a gun."

The smile left Sam's face. "Who said I went without a gun?" Even during his desperate try for normalcy there were constant reminders of the harsh realities of his world. Constant precautions and behavior quirks that he had hidden from Jess.

"Tough to get away from years of training, huh?" Dean asked with a grin.

"Yeah," Sam bit out. He had wanted so much for Jess to save him from the darkness of his world, but the darkness was too much a part of his life. Even when he was at his most relaxed with her, in the back of his mind he was always on guard against the things that he knew lived in the dark. It hurt in a way that Dean just didn't get, and Sam didn't know how to explain it to him. Or if he should even try.

After a lifetime of sharing things with his brother, of trusting Dean as his closest confidante, Sam found himself torn over discussing Stanford with him. It was a minefield of potential misunderstandings that had blown up in their faces more than once.

Occasionally Dean surprised him by attempting a foray into Sam's Stanford memories. Usually, though, Dean acted like it was a foreign world that Sam would be better off forgetting. Sam was never sure if that was based in a desire to protect Sam, or if Dean was truly afraid of losing Sam to that world again.

On bad days he went as far as to wonder if Dean had ever forgiven him for what he considered desertion, or if deep down his brother still thought he was a selfish jerk. There had been a lot of those bad days lately.

None of that changed the fact that not sharing his memories with Dean was leaving Sam feeling increasingly hollow. Dean was the one constant in his life, the person who made Sam's days real. Who laughed with him over the funny moments and helped to put the tough moments into perspective. Sam wanted Stanford to become a shared experience between them instead of the concrete wall that it currently was. He wanted to relive the moments, see them through his brother's eyes. He wanted Dean to make Stanford real again. Because as time went by it was feeling more and more like it was just a dream.

The boys were almost half way around the camp perimeter when they found it. A short dirt drive lead through a screen of underbrush and opened into a large campsite. The white truck was parked in the back corner of the site. It looked exactly as it had been described, right down to the sizable dent in the center of the front bumper. It was backed up against the underbrush at the rear of the site, with its front hood facing in their direction. A small, old fashioned pup tent was set up near the site's picnic table and barbecue grill. A cooler and a denim shirt on top of the table were the only personal belongings visible.

Dean held his finger to his lips and they stepped backwards into the screen of brush again. The other sites in that section of the campground all appeared to be deserted. The remote spots were the first to empty at news of a nearby animal attack. Dean made a quick gesture and they moved stealthily through the neighboring camp site, their hands resting on their guns.

There were no sounds from the skinwalker's campsite. Trees and underbrush provided cover between the two spots, giving them just occasional glimpses of the apparently lifeless site. They stopped when they were even with the truck and tent, and crouched in the trees.

The tent appeared to be empty, the back of the truck closed up. In a way, Sam was relieved. His earlier argument with Dean was still too raw.

"We don't know if he's in the truck," Dean pointed out, putting his hand on Sam's arm to stop him when he would have walked out into the open. He looked at the ground around his feet and stooped down to grab a couple of acorns. "Let's play squirrel."

Dean lobbed an acorn up into a high, graceful arc. It thwacked solidly on the top of the camper cap when it came down. He followed it with another acorn seconds later. "That should get his attention if he's in there."

There was no movement from the truck and they carefully moved forward until they could look into the cab. It had a 'lived in' look, similar to the Impala. It was a testament to a life lived on the road. A couple of small duffels and a bag of groceries were lined up neatly on the back seat.

"Food in the car?" Dean shook his head. "Doesn't he know this is bear country?"

Sam pointed down at the dark red license plate when they moved to the back of the truck. "Arizona, what a surprise," he muttered. The camper shell had small windows on the sides and back. They were so heavily blacked out it was impossible to see inside. He pulled his gun and held it ready as Dean set to work on the back lock with a lock pick tool.

It clicked open in seconds and Dean looked up at Sam with a grin. "Magic fingers," he mouthed.

Sam just rolled his eyes and nodded pointedly at the hatch. His heart sped up and he moved fluidly into a shooter's stance, pointing the gun at the back of the truck as Dean lifted the hatch.

"Nobody home," Dean breathed out with a sigh.

The truck bed was a full eight feet long and had an assortment of bags and boxes piled neatly down one side. A curious looking panel that resembled an elongated window screen made of chicken wire leaned against the boxes. A rolled up foam pad sat next to a pile of neatly folded blankets and a pillow. At the far end of the bed, mounted against the back of the truck cab, was a large metal box. It was impressively solid looking and secured by two heavy duty combination padlocks. Breaking into it would be a major, time consuming project.

"I think we can guess where he keeps the pelts," Sam said.

"Torching the whole truck is kind of out of the question, huh?" Dean asked hopefully.

"Extreme Fire Danger ring a bell? We'll take out the whole campground and the people in it." Sam turned around and looked at the small path running into the woods in back of the truck. "That probably goes right to the AT." He turned back to Dean with his eyebrows raised. "What do you think?"

Dean gave a little nod before closing the back of the truck. "Lead on, Dr. Livingston."

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The AT in that area was a well worn path circling around the outside of the campground. It was surrounded by quiet forest and occasionally edged by boulders. Several times they came upon expansive views of surrounding mountains and far away farmland. It had been a coin toss deciding which direction to take when they first got to the trail, but they finally decided to head south, taking them in the general direction of the valley where the horses had been attacked.

They followed the trail as it moved away from the campground and deeper into the woods. Sweat trickling down Dean's side made the scrapes there burn and itch, but he would never tell Sam that. He had argued with his brother when they were in the outdoors store, insisting that he didn't need one of the lightweight shirts that was designed for hiking. His own black T shirt would be fine, thank you very much. Now he was sweating, the T shirt clinging to his back in a damp mass of wrinkles, and his geek of a brother was looking cool and comfortable.

He stole a sideways glance at Sam and was happy to see the lines on his forehead had smoothed out a bit, his jaw wasn't clenched quite so tightly. The distraction of finding that damn truck seemed to have pulled Sam's thoughts away from whatever painful place they had retreated to after the mention of hiking with Jess. Once again, discussing college had left Sam upset and angry, holding back more information than he gave out. It hurt to be shut out of such a big part of Sam's life, but if that's what his brother needed, so be it.

To be fair, as much as he wanted to hear the details, do a little vicarious college living through his brother—and God how he wanted that—the idea scared him too. Reliving those times might make Sam realize just how much he had outgrown Dean, just how much that type of life was better for him. Was safer for him. And then Dean would lose him again. Their discussion in Chicago had shown just how shockingly close that already was to happening.

Sam was the only person he could really be himself with, the only person who really got it. He was the reality check, the one who saved Dean from spinning off into the crazy darkness that they lived with every day. He didn't want to live without that again.

So there was the truth. Sam's rock of a big brother was apparently just a whiny, needy, little girl. Dean gave a soft snort at the thought, but turned it into a small cough to clear his throat when he saw Sam's eyes shift in his direction.

The trail grew increasingly quiet. Except for a deer that had crashed through the trees below them—heading AWAY from them this time, thank God—there were no signs of life. Apparently even the birds went still in the late afternoon.

"This is getting us no where fast," he said, stopping dead on the trail.

"Uh huh," Sam spoke distractedly. He was no longer looking at Dean, his head turning in different directions as he scanned the area.

"You with me here, Sammy?" Dean couldn't help the annoyance in his voice.

"Ummm…yeah." The kid's head was still swiveling every which way and Dean felt the hair on the back of his own neck start to stand up. Sam finally looked at him, but Dean got the feeling he was still distracted. "How about just a little farther, Dean?" He finally seemed to really focus on Dean and he smiled. "If we still don't find anything we can go back and watch the truck."

Dean scowled. "We should have flattened the tires when we had the chance."

"You really are just a frustrated juvenile delinquent, aren't you?" Sam shot back with an easy grin.

A large ridge of rock jutted out in front of them, blocking their view of the trail and woods beyond it. Dean took the lead and walked the trail around it carefully, uncomfortable with proceeding blindly. They stopped dead when they came around the edge of the outcropping and Dean looked up at Sam with a sincere expression. "This is a job for you, Sammy. She is definitely your type."

"Dean!" Sam huffed. Dean was pretty sure there was a healthy whine dying to come out.

"I'm the juvenile delinquent," Dean smirked. He glanced down the trail again and sobered. "Seriously, dude, she shouldn't be out here."

The subject of their conversation was perched on the edge of the trail, a pair of oversized binoculars pressed to her face. Dark green pants, belted high around her waist, were tucked into sturdy hiking boots. Dean was pretty sure the pants had more pockets than his own. An oversized vest—complete with even more nooks and crannies—covered a light T shirt. The vest was weighted down by books tucked into the side pockets.

"Definitely your type," Dean repeated, eyeing the books.

She ignored them as they approached, finally lowering the binoculars when they stood on either side of her. A tan boonie hat with Audobon pins around the band was jammed onto her head, barely containing a mass of frizzy gray hair. She looked up at Sam with bright blue eyes. Looked waaay up. She was no bigger than five feet on a tall day.

"Would you like to see?" She offered the binoculars to Sam with a warm smile. "He's beautiful!"

Dean looked away to hide a grin when Sam thanked her and politely took them from her hand. She became positively incandescent with pleased excitement. That was his Sammy. Definitely had a way with the chicks.

"Look, right there, halfway up the big oak to the right of the pine. Do you see him?"

"Yes, I do." Sam looked down at her with a genuinely pleased smile. "Cooper's hawk, right?"

Dean did a double take and then gave a quick cough that sounded surprisingly like 'geek'.

Sam went back to looking at the hawk and his smile faltered. "Ma'am, do you mind if I let my brother have a look?" She was busy paging through one of the bird guides she had pulled from her pocket and just waved her hand in agreement.

Dean gave Sam a quizzical look but accepted the binoculars without protest. The muscles of Sam's arms and shoulders were tense, bunched up. The lanky kid who had gone off to college had returned a well muscled man. It had taken a few months of hunting together, but eventually Dean had become adept at reading the 'new' Sam's body language. At that moment the kid was positively vibrating with tension.

The hawk was easy to spot with the powerful birding binoculars. He was sitting still, staring intently at the brush below him. Probably deciding on his dinner menu. No reason that he could see for Sam to get so worked up.

"Hey, Dean, I was thinking, what do you think of dinner at seven o'clock?" Sam asked nonchalantly.

Dean moved the binoculars to the bird's seven o'clock and saw the object of the hawk's concentrated stare. The wolf's head was poking out of the brush at the base of the big oak. He took another step into the open while Dean watched. Son of a bitch was staring right at him. Dean could swear the creature was mocking him.

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"Dean, we can't let her walk back by herself!" Sam pointed at the birdwatcher who had introduced herself as 'Cynthia' and then promptly set off down the trail, calling over her shoulder that there was a fire information meeting at the amphitheatre that she didn't want to miss.

"And we can't let him just slip away again, Sam!" Dean gestured down the slope. "Which is why you're going to walk her back and I'm going to make sure we don't lose him. When you're done you radio me and then we'll meet up. Piece of cake." He smiled convincingly. How could the kid turn down such a simple plan?

"How about you walk her back and I track him?" Sam shot back. "I've done more research, I can track him more easily."

Dean looked at him in disbelief. "That's bullshit, Sam!"

Sam smirked at him. "Oh yeah? So you knew to check what the hawk was looking at because hawks can sense a skinwalker?"

"Yeah…sure…I knew that!"

Sam just continued smirking at him.

There wasn't a chance in hell that he was letting Sammy go after this thing by himself. He'd been doing a shitty job of protecting his brother lately and he wasn't setting him out on a silver platter now. They'd both walk the old biddy back before he let that happen. Although Sam would never refer to her as an old biddy, he obviously liked the old broad…and she liked him.

Dean smiled triumphantly. "She likes you. She'll never let me walk her. She looked at me like I was an axe murderer."

"Dude! You almost dropped her binoculars!" Sam sighed, his shoulders dropping in resignation. He set his jaw and looked at Dean through narrowed eyes. "I'll radio you as soon as I'm on my way back. Don't do anything stupid!"

"Scouts honor." Dean held up his hand in his approximation of the scout sign.

"That's the Vulcan greeting," Sam muttered as turned to go after Cynthia. She was just disappearing around the ridge of rock and Sam broke into a quick jog, hurrying to catch up.

"Live long and prosper, Sammy," Dean called softly after him. He watched his brother moving off down the trail and felt his throat tighten. Didn't matter how freakin' big he got, he was still Dean's little brother. He'd do whatever he had to, to keep him from harm.

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Stones rolled out from under Dean's feet as he slid the last foot down a small section of slope. He winced at the noise that accompanied his descent, and then stood quietly, listening for any movement around him. He wasn't on a path, at least not a 'people' path. His route had occasionally taken him through sections of dense brush, but he had been mostly moving on animal trails, trusting an excellent sense of direction to keep him from getting lost.

The wolf was proving surprisingly easy to track considering the dryness of the ground. He'd lost the trail a couple of times, but was able to pick it up within a few minutes each time by just making increasingly wide circles. Each time, he found a bit of clawed ground or a tuft of hair.

It was quiet around him and he began moving forward again, taking his time. Sam had been gone almost twenty-five minutes, and Dean expected to hear him on the walkie talkie any second.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Sam moved swiftly, retracing his steps back to where he had left Dean. He didn't like them splitting up on a hunt like this. Sure, Dean had been on solo hunts before, but that didn't really help with the chills that had been crawling up and down Sam's spine for the past five minutes. He'd tried unsuccessfully to reach Dean on the walkie talkie as soon as Cynthia had left him outside of the amphitheater. The bulk of the mountain was between them, and it was proving to be a very effective barrier.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he finished rounding a bend in the trail. Hopefully he and his brother were finally on the same side of the mountain. He grabbed the walkie talkie and pressed the transmit button. "Dean?"

The walkie talkie remained stubbornly silent and Sam's mouth went dry. Dean hadn't cornered the market on worrying. _C'mon Dean. Where are you_? His finger was about to mash the transmit button again when the walkie talkie began to crackle.

"…_am? …are you?"_ At least half the message was lost to the static, but it was still reassuring. Dean's voice sounded normal, and Sam relaxed fractionally.

"Dean, I'm on my way back."

"…_kay. …directions…trail…"_

"I can barely hear you. I think that big outcropping is blocking us. I'll let you know when I get around it."

He didn't know how much Dean could hear, but at least now Dean knew he was on his way. More importantly, Sam could breathe a little easier.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Dean wiped the sweat from the side of his forehead with his arm and leaned against a boulder on the edge of the clearing where he stood. He'd pick up the pace as soon as Sam caught up with him. He frowned, eyeing the clump of gray hair caught on a thorny vine in front of him. Sloppy. He'd have had to be blind not to see it.

It was all very sloppy. Allowing himself to be seen, leaving such an obvious trail….Skinwalkers were highly intelligent. Even in their animal form they retained the intelligence of the human witch. The uneasiness that had been niggling the back of his mind with each new sign he found burst into full blown fear as a realization hit him. It was freakin' obvious. The skinwalker had wanted to be followed.

The hair on the back of Dean's neck prickled and he became acutely aware of his surroundings, the slight murmur of the breeze in the leaves and the chattering of a group of birds in the trees around him, the smell of the dry dust his feet kicked up and the tang of oil he had used on his gun, the chipmunks scampering around on a downed tree in the woods next to him.

Chipmunks, birds… Real animals sensed that skinwalkers were different, most kept their distance. When he and Sam had been on the trail the forest around them was silent and still. Except for the deer, running from something. Oh hell. The sucker was smart. He had been following them and had picked the time to show himself, making it seem like he was a threat to Cynthia, betting correctly on what their response would be. He had purposely separated Dean and Sam. And it wasn't so that he could confront the brother who was hunting, who was prepared for battle with a gun already in his hand.

The sweat on Dean's body turned to beads of ice and his breath caught in his throat. He was off of the boulder and working his way back up the slope before it was even a fully formed thought. He was running on pure instinct. His thumb pushed down harshly on the walkie talkie button.

"SAM! SAMMY!" His heart began a drum roll as the silence stretched out.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Sam eased carefully around the outcropping and onto the stretch of trail where he had last seen Dean. Finally. A burst of static on the radio a few minutes before had made it pretty clear that the ridge of rock really was blocking them. Dean wasn't getting through at all. Sam walked toward the spot where they had met Cynthia and looked down the slope.

He jumped when Dean's voice blasted out of the walkie talkie. "GOD DAMN IT SAMMY! ARE YOU THERE?!"

Oh shit. Shit shit shit. Dean was in trouble. Sam thumbed the button with his left hand while his right reached for his gun. "Dean! I'm—"

A massive weight hit him from behind and he was slammed to the ground on the edge of the trail. His breath was knocked out of him and he fought to draw some air in at the same time he heaved upwards with his arms, struggling to roll to the side and free himself from the weight on his back. The weight that was pushing his backpack, and every hard object in it, into his ribs and spine. His gun was trapped under him, against his stomach.

The wolf was snarling and snapping around the edges of the pack, attempting to reach his neck or shoulders, but the pack was protecting him so far. Sam pushed at the ground again with his arms, trying to get his left leg under him so he could push up and dislodge his attacker. His right leg was pinned to the ground by one of the wolf's back paws, its claws digging into the back of his thigh with fiery pain. If he tried to move that leg those claws would hamstring him.

Then the weight was gone from his back and he was being dragged onto his side. The wolf's jaws had a savage grip on his pack and the animal was pulling hard, attempting to turn Sam over.

_If that's what you want…_ Sam thought grimly. He allowed himself to be rolled slightly onto his left side and quickly reached up to release his right shoulder strap. The wolf tugged on his pack and the strap loosened the whole way at the same time Sam threw his right arm back. The pack slipped free from his right shoulder and Sam rolled away from it, pulling his left arm free with a tug. He continued with one fluid movement, levering himself to his knees and pulling his gun from the front of his pants.

It would have worked beautifully with a normal wolf. Hell, it would have worked beautifully with ninety percent of the things they hunted. But the skinwalker's keen intelligence was supplemented by speed and power beyond that of a normal animal.

The wolf feinted to Sam's right as soon as it realized what Sam was doing. It leapt at Sam from the side, denying him the chance to bring the gun to bear. The best he could do was to swing his arm in a short and vicious arc, using the gun as a short club. He connected with the side of the wolf's head. The animal turned slightly into the hit and his teeth scraped across the back of Sam's hand, knocking the gun loose. The animal fell to the side shaking its head and Sam almost fell on top of it as his momentum carried him to the right and his weight transferred onto his injured leg. He caught himself when his right hand hit the ground and he pushed himself backwards, trying to scramble to his feet away from the wolf.

Sam's heart was hammering in his ears, adrenaline blunting the pain of his injuries. A part of him heard Dean's voice screaming his name but he couldn't judge the distance. His concentration was a narrow cone focused on the wolf in front of him, focused on killing without being killed. He couldn't spare the breath or distraction of answering his brother. The gun was under the wolf so Sam slid his left hand into his pocket, releasing his knife from its sheath.

He had just pulled it loose when the wolf threw itself at him, knocking him heavily to the ground on his left side. The skinwalker stood over him, straddling his body. The snarling muzzle dove for his throat, mouth opening as it prepared for a death blow. Sam brought his right arm up and his forearm caught the animal under its jaw, snapping its mouth shut with a loud click. It pulled its head back to clear Sam's arm and then drove it forward again, sinking his teeth into Sam's forearm.

Sam bit back a scream as agony blazed in his arm. The wolf gave its head a quick shake and tried to jam Sam's arm farther back into its mouth. When the rear teeth found purchase it would snap its jaws and break the bone. It was staring into Sam's eyes the whole time, its red eyes full of hatred.

The knife was secure in Sam's left hand and he moved his arm out from underneath him as far as he could, slashing upwards with the sharp blade. It drew a bloody furrow across the wolf's front leg and its grip on his arm relaxed slightly as it tried to pull its leg out of Sam's reach. The shift in its weight allowed Sam to free his left arm completely, and he jabbed upwards, aiming for the wolf's neck.

The animal saw the move coming and released Sam's arm, pulling its head back with lightning speed. Its head came forward again, ducking under the knife and striking like a snake towards Sam's throat.

Sam pushed his right arm against the wolf's chest, trying to hold him away. He drew his left arm back to use the knife again, but the animal anticipated the move and shifted its weight, pinning the arm. Blood from the bite wounds was smearing across the fur on the creature's chest, coating it, making it slick, and Sam's arm started to slip as the skinwalker pressed forward. He could feel the wolf's jaws snapping, catching at the front of his shirt as it strained to burrow its muzzle under Sam's tucked chin, determined to reach the vulnerable prize hidden there.

It never got there, pulling back when a bullet buried itself in the tree above its head. Its red eyes flashed down at Sam for a split second and he could read the message there, the promise. _Next time._

The wolf dropped down to the ground next to Sam, using the hunter as a barrier between himself and the gun. He shot off down the slope next to them and swerved into the cover of the underbrush. Sam's head dropped to the ground and he panted harshly. Dean charged past him, looking like some type of avenging warrior with the gun in his hand and a snarl marring his features.

Dean went a few feet down the slope, solidly between Sam and any further threat from the wolf. Sam allowed his eyes to slide closed, stars and colors swirling behind his lids. He dropped the knife and rolled onto his back, his left hand moving to gently cradle his right arm.

"Sammy? You okay?" Dean's voice was beyond concerned, bordering on scared.

Sam opened his eyes. "Yeah, I'm okay." He thought he did a pretty good job keeping the waver out of his reply. He forced himself to move, sitting up so he could rest his back against the same tree that Dean had shot. "You should go after him Dean. I cut him. There'll be a blood trail." The adrenaline surge began to trickle away and he leaned his head back against the tree, eyes closed. His right arm and hand were slick with blood and there was a definite patch of warmth against the back of his right leg. Both areas throbbed and he knew they would hurt like a son of a bitch when the last of the fight's stress had faded away.

All told, he had gotten off pretty easy. Easier than he deserved after being caught with his guard down like that. Maybe Dean was right not to trust him.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Dean tried to still the tremors in his hands and bring his breathing under control as his eyes scanned the slope for the wolf. Now that he actually was breathing again. That particular skill had seemed to elude him from the point when Sam had been cut off on the walkie talkie right up until he had heard his brother say 'I'm okay'. When he had gotten up to the level of the trail and seen Sam on the ground with that bastard… He hadn't known where the blood was coming from at first. For one brief, heart stopping moment, he had thought he was too late. His gun had been pointed at the side of the wolf's chest, and hopefully his heart, when he had pulled the shot at the last moment and sent it over the wolf's head. Just too damn close to Sam to take a chance.

There was no sign of the skinwalker down the slope. He was probably long gone. Unless Sam's 'I cut him' was an understatement. "How good did you get him?"

"Not good enough," Sam answered ruefully. "Cut his leg. It's not gonna kill him, but it might bleed good enough to track."

For a minute Dean actually toyed with the idea. He wanted the bastard dead more than he had wanted anything for a long time. Humiliation and fear were not emotions that Dean handled very well, and his encounters with this creature so far had resulted in healthy doses of both. He blew out a breath in frustration and gave himself a mental shake. Time to put on his game face. He turned towards his brother and got his first good look. Quite frankly, Sam looked like shit. His face was pale, his hair hung in sweaty strands that clung to his forehead. There was blood on the front of his shirt, but from the way Sam was clutching his right arm, that was probably the source. "I'm not leaving you alone," Dean finally answered.

"Then we'll both go." Sam started pushing himself to his feet and Dean hurried towards him.

"Dude! What do you think you're doing?" He pointed at Sam's arm in exasperation. "Did you notice you're leaking?"

"That's why I'm getting my backpack. There are first aid supplies in it." He leaned back against the tree, obviously favoring his right leg.

Dean's lips flattened into a straight line. "He got your leg too?" God, he definitely hadn't meant that to come out sounding as annoyed as it did. Especially since it wasn't Sam he was angry with. Sam started to push himself away from the tree but Dean put his hand on Sam's shoulder and lightly pressed him back against it. "You stay put, I'll get it," he said more gently. He picked up both the pack and Sam's gun.

Sam pointed to a side pocket and Dean unzipped it to find a plastic bag filled with an assortment of first aid supplies. "Could you BE any more of a boy scout?" he asked, his lips twitching into a slight grin.

"With our family? Those supplies are as necessary as water. There's some gauze pads in there and tape. Let's just get this wrapped and then get after him," Sam said impatiently. "My leg is just a little scratched up. It'll keep."

"Forget it Sam. He had his fun, and now he's gone. He played us, man. And we bought it." _I bought it._ Dean shook his head with disgust and pulled out the supplies he would need, including an unopened bottle of water. "Let's wrap your arm and get out of here before somebody comes to investigate the gunshot. We'll head back to the campground and see if the truck is still there." He eyed the front of Sam's shirt and grimaced. "Don't suppose you've got an extra shirt with you, huh?" Blood from Sam's arm was smeared all over the front of the shirt. Or, more correctly, what was left of the shirt. It was badly torn where the wolf's teeth had snagged it during the attack. There was a jagged hole ripped out near the collar and Dean pushed off an attack of vertigo when he realized its proximity to Sam's throat.

Anger was better than the sickening fear that turned his stomach at the visual reminder of how close it had been. He grabbed Sam's left arm and brusquely moved him so that the water used to wash the blood away would run under some brush and out of sight. Sam hissed when the water first hit the wounds but quieted himself by biting his lower lip.

Dean held his wrist gently and turned the arm to examine the injuries. The scrapes across the back of Sam's hand were bloody furrows, but they were shallow and the bleeding was already slowing. The forearm was a bit more of a mess and Dean winced looking at it. Ugly red bruises were starting to form around the bite marks and rivulets of blood were already working their way back down Sam's arm from a few of the deeper punctures. There was a little tearing around some of the marks, but nothing that looked too severe. "This is gonna have to be cleaned up better when we get a room somewhere. Can you move your wrist and hand? Make a fist?" Dean nodded in satisfaction when Sam was able to carry out all of his requests. The wounds were bleeding freely again, but not enough to make it look like there was any serious vascular damage. Dean moved quickly and efficiently, spreading antibiotic ointment and then wrapping with gauze and a pressure bandage. He explained why he had high-tailed it back to the trail while he worked.

Sam gazed into the forest with a thoughtful frown when Dean was done with his explanation. "Dean, you starting to get the feeling he's targeting us?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean didn't even have to think about it. "Yeah, I am. I think he spotted us on the trail today and recognized us from West Virginia. He knows we're a threat now, just like Susan Macy was."

"What if it goes further than that?"

"What do you mean?" Dean had a feeling he wasn't going to like where this was going. He didn't know if it was because of Sam's strong analytical abilities, or his slightly more 'unusual' abilities, but Sam had always had a talent for making connections that eluded Dean.

Sam continued thoughtfully. "His attacks before now were never spectacular enough to attract widespread attention. Attacking those horses in a national park, with all the media here for the fire…I think he wanted to make the news."

"Why?" Dean could see the answer in Sam's face and he shook his head in denial. "No way, Sammy. How would he have known in West Virginia that we were a threat? And that we'd follow him?" Even as he asked, answers came to him. "He could have been one of the people in the diner when we talked to Christy." He closed his eyes for a second and his shoulders slumped as he cursed. "Oh, son of a bitch! He heard us on the trail!"

"Everyday hikers don't generally carry guns, either," Sam added.

Dean was right. He didn't like where this was going at all. On this gig, they weren't the ones doing the hunting.

He shot a look at his brother, his stomach roiling. Both times the skinwalker had come after them, he seemed to target Sam. Why the hell did these things always have to happen to his brother? Dean's anger built in proportion to his worry.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Sam sighed and leaned back against the picnic table. The campsite was empty when they returned, the truck and the tent gone. He carefully stretched his right leg out in front of him while he watched Dean search the deserted site. He didn't think the claws had done much damage, but it did sting. His right arm was a different story. It was throbbing insistently, but there was no way he was saying a word about it.

The majority of the walk back had been an exercise in silence. Sam had caught Dean staring at him a couple of times, his jaw clenched in silent anger. Couldn't blame Dean for being mad at him. He was beyond furious at himself. This should be over, but he had blown it. If it had been Dean, the skinwalker would probably be dead now.

They were getting nowhere fast on this hunt. When he had first proposed it, he had hoped the hunt would bridge the growing gap between the two of them. But the gap was still widening. They were starting to lose the easy coordination—their uncanny ability to be in sync with each other—that made them formidable hunters.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**A/N**: To any purists who are familiar with the Loft Mountain area of Shenandoah, I apologize for any inconsistencies between my version of the area and reality. I generally hike north of Loft, and layouts and topo maps could only take me so far.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N**: The misunderstandings and lack of communication come to a head in this chapter. I hope I can be forgiven for my interpretation of what might have been going on in their relationship during this part of Season 1. They kept so many of their thoughts/feelings buried during that time period that I couldn't resist exploring just one of the possibilities. One reason that I love the brothers so much is that they are both flawed, complex, and sometimes contradictory characters—whose lives are often ruled by their love for each other and sense of brotherhood. Please bear with me if Sam seems a little OOC in a couple of spots. There is a reason.

I was away for a couple of days, so I apologize for delayed responses to your wonderful reviews. And for everyone who reviewed anonymously: I am incredibly grateful that you have taken the time to not just share my story with me, but to drop me a line about it.

Mistakes are all mine. Especially the medical ones.

**Disclaimer**: Nothing's changed. Still not mine. Still love 'em.

From Chapter 4:

_The majority of the walk back had been an exercise in silence. Sam had caught Dean staring at him a couple of times, his jaw clenched in silent anger. Couldn't blame Dean for being mad at him. He was beyond furious at himself. This should be over, but he had blown it. If it had been Dean, the skinwalker would probably be dead now._

_They were getting nowhere fast on this hunt. When he had first proposed it, he had hoped the hunt would bridge the growing gap between the two of them. But the gap was still widening. They were starting to lose the easy coordination—their uncanny ability to be in sync with each other—that made them formidable hunters._

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**Hozho Chapter 5**

They found a small but clean motel on the main street of one of the quaint towns along Route 33 right outside of the park. Sam had staked a claim on the room's small table as soon as they walked in, leaving Dean to bring in most of the needed items from the Impala. Sam had become progressively more irritable and edgy during the drive out of the park, and Dean was happy to give him a wide berth while he worked. At least for a little while.

After the fourth or fifth time that Sam snapped at Dean over a simple question, Dean had had enough. He chased his brother into the bathroom to take his shower without further delay. The bite on Sam's arm should have been properly cleaned and bandaged right after it happened. Hell, in a perfect world they would have gone to the local ER for the bite. Unfortunately, 'dog' bites meant questions and police reports, two things Winchesters avoided whenever possible.

Dean looked at the small notepad that Sam had left on the table next to the humming laptop. The information that Dean needed was all written down for him. The name and address that Sam had gotten from running the Chevy's plates through NCIC, as well as the ID he had hacked, and then used, to gain access to the huge database. He also had the locations and numbers for the Navajo Tribal Police. Dean shook his head and grinned. Sammy was gonna make somebody a nice little secretary someday.

Dean settled himself into the wooden chair recently vacated by his brother and pulled the notepad towards him as he dialed.

"_Navajo Tribal Police, Chinle district, Tsotsi speaking."_ The voice was smooth and lightly accented.

"Officer Tsotsi, this is William Cullen with the Virginia State Police, badge number 7192. We've got a white Chevrolet K1500 with an expired registration listing a Benjamin Betzgai out on your County Route 8910, as its owner. The truck was involved in an incident here and I'm looking for some information on the owner." Dean was especially proud of his 'state police' voice. He patterned it on his dad's marine tone and it was usually fairly effective.

There was silence for a full ten seconds before Tsotsi came back on the line, _"Hold the line Officer Cullen, I'm transferring you to Officer Betzgai. He's the best one to answer any questions about Hosteen Ben."_

"No wait, I'm—" Dean scowled in frustration when the phone went to a background hum before he could get the officer's attention. Who the hell was Hosteen Ben?

"_This is Betzgai. I understand you have a question about Benjamin Betzgai?"_ Betzgai's voice was deep and slow.

"Yes, I do. His truck has come up in our investigation of an incident here and I'm looking for information that might help us. What can you tell me about Mr. Betzgai?"

Dean doubted the Navajo Tribal Officer realized just how good their connection was, or he probably would have done more to hide the catch in his throat and the shuddered breath that came clearly over the line. _"What kind of incident?"_

"I'm not at liberty to say. You can call our main number to verify my ID if you'd like," Dean bluffed. He actually had no idea what would happen if the Arizona officer took him up on his offer. The ID was real, but who knew if it would stand up to an inquiry.

"_Officer Cullen, my associate is already in the process of checking with Virginia. Hosteen Ben was my uncle. He was killed a little over five years ago. You're sure it's his truck? Full size white chevy? Had an enclosed back last I saw it."_

Dean winced at the news that his background was being checked. He was disappointed, but not surprised, that the truck's official owner wasn't their guy. It was always a possibility that the truck belonged to one of the skinwalker's earlier victims. "That's the vehicle. Was it sold after your uncle's death?"

"_It disappeared after my uncle's murder, Officer Cullen."_ Betzgai's voice became quieter, more hesitant. _"Do you have the driver in custody?"_

"Do you know who took the truck? Is he a suspect in your uncle's murder?" Dean frowned at the pad of paper. Sam hadn't left any notes about the Chevy generating a hit as a stolen vehicle with NCIC.

"_We believe it was taken by my cousin, Wilson Betzgai. He's not just a suspect, there were eyewitnesses when he slit my uncle's throat. He was proud of it. Now I will ask you again—do you have him in custody?"_ There was no longer any hesitation in the voice. It was quietly forceful and tinged with anger.

"Not yet," Dean answered calmly. "I'm sorry to hear about your uncle. Was Wilson his son?"

"_Hosteen Ben was a well respected man, his death was a sad thing for many people." _The Tribal Officer was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again his voice was cold. "_My uncle had no sons, Wilson was also his nephew. There is something you should know if you're looking for my cousin, Officer Cullen. He is a…'sick'…man, and very dangerous. Your officers should be prepared to do whatever is necessary to protect themselves."_

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Dean couldn't keep the grin off of his face when Sam came out of the bathroom twenty minutes later. Sam had on a pair of loose sweat pants and a towel over his shoulders caught the water dripping from his hair. He looked better after his shower. The hot water had put some color back into his cheeks and he definitely looked a little more relaxed. The clean towel he had wrapped around his right arm was damp and already turning a light pink in a few spots.

"How's your leg? You get it all cleaned up?"

Sam looked at him suspiciously. "Yeah, it was just a couple of deep scratches. What do you look so happy about? Did Pastor Jim call back?"

"No, if he's tied up with something he probably hasn't even gotten the message yet." Dean gestured back at the bathroom. "Let's take care of that arm. It'll be easier over the sink."

"I'm not letting you near me until you tell me why you're grinning like that. You look like Hannibal Lechter sitting down to dinner."

Dean's grin got bigger. "Got an ID on wolf boy. Wilson Betzgai. I'll tell you about it while we get your arm cleaned up." His grin turned apologetic. "You know we've got to do what we can to get it irrigated, right?"

"Yeah, I know," Sam said, grimacing in anticipation.

They settled in the bathroom with the first aid supplies laid out on the counter. Sam was able to sit on the top of the closed toilet seat and lay his arm across the sink. He fidgeted while Dean prepared a needleless syringe with saline solution. Dean held off on giving his information update until the last minute. He knew his brother. Reopening the punctures and cleaning them out was going to hurt like hell, but the new info would be a great distraction.

Dean bent over Sam's arm and winced. The deep red bruises around the bite were already starting to take on shades of purple and blue. The flesh around the punctures and lacerations was red and swollen. It was way too early for any type of infection to show, if it ever did. The painful appearance of the wounds was a result of the abuse the flesh and been subjected to. Dean ignored the clenching in his own stomach as he began working on the biggest tear, making sure it was clear of debris and shooting a stream of solution from the syringe into it. Sam began tapping his right heel on the ground, his knee bouncing up and down. His arm, however, remained rock solid and still.

"So, Benjamin Betzgai?" Dean started and then waited for Sam to reply.

"The registered owner?" Sam's voice was a little breathless.

"Yep. He was killed a little over five years ago."

Sam's voice came out on a rush of air as Dean used a forceful squirt to loosen up a piece of visible dirt and then pulled it out with tweezers. "By the skinwalker?"

"Yeah, but not how you'd think. Hosteen Ben's throat was slit by his nephew, Wilson. In front of his wife and adult daughter and a couple of friends. The friends were influential tribal elders."

"So that was probably the start of it," Sam said thoughtfully. Dean was gratified to see Sam's leg slowing down and his left hand unclenching as he got caught up in his thoughts. "To gain the power of transformation the skinwalker has to break serious tribal taboos. Murdering a close family member is one of the classic ways of doing that. 'Hosteen' means Ben was a respected elder…in front of other elders and family members…" Sam shook his head. "This guy is seriously bad news, Dean. He broke taboo upon taboo. I didn't see it mentioned anywhere that the extent of his abilities is tied in to just how much he violated Navajo beliefs, but if it is…" Sam shook his head again. "Are they sending over a picture of him?"

"No, we kind of got interrupted before I could set that up." Officer William Cullen, at work near Virginia Beach, had apparently been very surprised to hear from the Navajo Tribal Police. Sam looked at Dean with his eyebrows raised. Dean waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it."

Dean straightened up and grabbed a couple of things from the first aid kit. He had been working quickly, as much for his own comfort level as his brother's. He was usually able to shut off emotion when he patched up Sam or his Dad, but this time it wasn't working. The wound was relatively minor compared to many they had endured, and Sam was being a champ, barely flinching. But each squirt of saline, each drop of peroxide, pushed Dean farther and farther away from the satisfaction of finding solid info and reminded him of just how much he had fallen down on this hunt. He was lucky his brother wasn't dead. He hadn't pulled Sam away from Stanford to get him killed, but lately it seemed like they were on a runaway train heading in that direction.

He kept talking as he worked, and started to wonder if he was trying to distract himself just as much as he was trying to distract Sam. "And get this. They might have gotten this Wilson character years ago, but the family never reported the truck as stolen."

"The idea of having the family skinwalker caught and brought to trial by outside authorities probably scared them," Sam said through clenched teeth. "They might have wanted to take care of things themselves. I'm sure they never expected him to leave the area the way he did."

Two of the puncture wounds were deeper than the others and had started to close up a bit. They would have to be opened with the small scalpel in the kit and cleaned out. Dean wasn't looking forward to this part, but there was no getting around it. Deep punctures were the type of wound most prone to infection. He had actually saved the tidbit of information he thought would really intrigue Sam for when he was working on them. "Almost done, Sammy. But this part is going to sting a little. I'm gonna need you to keep your arm still."

Sam snorted at the understatement and Dean rested his hand on Sam's solid shoulder before he started. He was reminded of just how strong his brother was when he did. The kid wasn't making a sound, was barely moving, but his shoulder was covered in a cold sheen of sweat. Dean wondered exactly when it was that his overly dramatic baby brother had gotten so tough.

Dean started to work. He felt his brother's muscles flutter as Sam suppressed a flinch when the scalpel began to probe the wound. "So it turned out the Navajo officer I talked to was Wilson Betzgai's cousin. The story gets better Sam. This is not some undereducated, borderline poverty Navajo. Our skinwalker was a full professor of anthropology at the university for over ten years."

Sam whistled softly. "Did the officer seem like he knew what his cousin was?"

"He never came right out and said it, but he kept telling me his cousin was a 'sick man' and that going after him would be dangerous. Hell, Sam, he was practically telling me to shoot first and ask questions later." Dean chuckled. "Man after my own heart."

"Kind of puts the skinwalker's actions in a new light," Sam muttered grimly as Dean worked on the second deep puncture.

"Yep," Dean said, feeling a renewed flush of anger. "He's a cold and calculating son of a bitch."

"He's practically taunting us. OW! Christ, Dean! That hurt!"

"Almost done Sammy," Dean said apologetically, hunched over the sink as he finished cleaning out the last wound. He glanced up at his brother and wished he had just dragged Sam to the hospital where they could have numbed the arm before working on it. Sam's head was back and he was just staring at the bathroom ceiling, gnawing on his bottom lip. Beads of sweat glistened on his face.

Dean straightened up with a satisfied sigh. "That's it. We'll get it rinsed and get some meds on it and you're good to go."

Sam lifted his head and looked at Dean, blinking moisture out of his eyes. "Thanks, Dean," he said simply.

"Try not to let yourself get turned into a chew toy again, okay?" Dean had meant it as a joke, but the look on his brother's face when Sam thanked him had skewered something inside of him and his voice came out flat. He saw Sam's eyes darken before they dropped to study the bathroom's tile floor. Since when was Sam so damn sensitive? A distraction was needed. "Where's the scanner?'

"Ummm…random. Should still be on the front seat of the car. Why?"

"We're gonna know the next time his hairy ass appears a hell of a lot quicker then he expects," Dean answered.

Sam narrowed his eyes in thought for a second before looking at Dean and grinning. "I'm sure I can find the local frequencies online."

"ALL of the frequencies in use," Dean amended. "Through the county, in the park…and including whatever the Forest Service is using out at that fire. Tomorrow we start haunting the park, and as soon as we hear any mention of him, we're there."

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

"Alright Caleb, thanks…Yeah, we left him a message but haven't heard from him yet…Yeah, will do. Later." Dean flipped his phone shut and looked over to where Sam was seated at the small table. His eyes narrowed when he saw his brother rubbing at his forehead. Again. He had already taken some ibuprofen for his arm. They shoulda helped with any headache too.

"Caleb didn't really have anything that's not in Dad's journal. We don't need silver, regular weapons will do. He didn't have any suggestions about tracking. It was different when Dad was in New Mexico. He knew who the skinwalker was going after out there, and it was a limited area. Caleb said Jim's really the expert on them."

"So we stick with the original plan for now." Sam didn't look at his brother, his eyes kept moving back and forth between the computer screen and the scanner buttons as he finished programming all of the needed frequencies. His knee was bouncing up and down and he fidgeted continuously as he worked.

"Did you get any replies back from those emails yet?" Dean asked. Sam had sent a number of emails out to other contacts trying to drum up more sources of information. He shook his head 'no', still not looking at Dean.

"Then yeah, we stick with the plan, unless we hear from Pastor Jim with a better idea." Dean looked at the local road maps and topographic maps of the park that surrounded him on the bed. The working plan was more of a 'non-plan'. They would go back to the Loft campground in the morning, gather as much information as they could about the area, and sit by the scanner. Loft was fairly central to the wilderness area that filled much of the southern district of the park. They debated heading farther north, but both felt the skinwalker would stay in the wilder and less crowded southern district.

"You know, Dean, I think Betzgai would come after one of us if he had the chance," Sam commented hopefully, tearing his eyes away from the computer for a minute.

"Last resort, Sam. I don't trust this guy to act how we'd expect. Setting ourselves up as bait could backfire." He was not eager for a repeat of tonight's performance, patching up his tattered brother. In fact he wouldn't mind if he never had to do that again. Fat chance.

Sam hit a couple of keys on the computer and then rubbed the back of his neck with a slight grimace. His knee was going a mile a minute now and his left hand was tapping on the table. "You're kidding! 'Shoot first and ask questions later' Winchester actually thinks something is too dangerous? Who are you and what have you done with my brother?" Sam said with a little snicker.

Sam had an uncanny ability to hit the nerve that was the rawest. Did Sam actually think Dean was eager to put his brother's life in danger? "Aren't you tired of being mistaken for kibble?" Dean snapped. "Neither of us is going to be bait. We stick with the plan for now," he said with finality. "If you don't like it then kick your superior intellect into gear and come up with a better idea."

Sam threw the scanner onto the bed and stood up abruptly. "I don't like other people being put in danger while we sit back and play it safe," he ground out.

Dean went cold at the apparent role reversal going on. Sam was the one who usually kept them grounded and thinking things through on hunts. What was going on? "You're starting to sound like me, Sammy. It's a little scary." He grinned, trying to keep it light.

Sam shook himself and gave Dean a small smile. "Two Dean Winchesters? I don't think the world could handle it." He picked up his wallet from the nightstand and looked down at Dean. "Look, I wanna get out and stretch my legs and we haven't eaten yet. There's that McDonalds we passed about five minutes from here. You wanna go get something?"

The younger hunter was so jittery he was practically vibrating. Dean frowned as he watched. "You feeling okay?"

"Yeah, just a little hyper. Adrenaline overload from today or something." Dean looked at him with one eyebrow raised. "Okay, a little headache too," Sam admitted. "Probably from being hungry. You coming?"

Dean pulled the Impala keys out of his pocket and tossed them over. "Nah, I'm gonna hit the shower. Get me something."

"Alright. I'll probably eat there but I'll bring you something. I've got my email program up on the computer. Keep your eye on it in case somebody gets back to us."

"Don't get yourself any coffee," Dean called out as Sam was going through the door. "You're already acting like a five year old with a sugar rush." The closing door cut off Dean's ending words.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Dean lifted his arm and turned sideways to see his side in the mirror. The hot water still stung on his right side and arm but it didn't look like there was a problem with either spot. Maybe he could steal one of his brother's new shirts if they were going to be hiking around the park again. Less sweat would mean less irritation. He'd tell Sam he just wanted to fit in better with the other tourists. He pulled a T shirt over his head and laughed to himself, thinking about his brother's reaction to that one. Maybe a little more sweat was a better deal than a lot more brotherly abuse.

A cloud of steam followed him out of the bathroom. An icon blinking on the laptop caught his eye and he walked over eagerly. It would be good to get some new input on their situation. It looked promising, a new email from a Professor James.

Dean opened the mail and started to read. He almost stopped after the first line, glancing guiltily at the door to the room. He halfway expected Sam to come bursting through at any moment, demanding an explanation for the flagrant violation of his privacy. Actually, he would have welcomed the interruption, welcomed the chance to turn this into an argument over whether Sam was hiding something. Maybe then he wouldn't feel so guilty about continuing to read a personal message. His mind skirted around the bigger issue of what the snooping said about his trust in Sam.

_Samuel How are you and your brother? What new places have your wanderings brought you to since we spoke? Please feel free to bore me with details. I admit I am an armchair voyeur living vicariously through my favorite student._

_Being head of department for as long as I have has endowed me with some privileges, and I am happy to exercise them on your behalf. As promised, I have spoken with the University 'powers that be' regarding your status as a student. They feel as I do, that you show far too much promise for us to give you up. Your place here will be waiting for you whenever you decide to come back. Please let me know if you would like me to look into securing housing for you for this fall. Humor me, I like to feel useful. I know the reality is that you have a number of friends in the area who would be vying for you to stay with them._

_I hope you can pardon an old man for being pushy. I understand why you left and I still grieve for Jessica. She was an exceptional young woman. But she would want you to have the bright future that you have worked so hard for, and which you richly deserve. To that end I have also spoken with the dean of admissions at the law school. I swear to you, the man was salivating at the thought of your return to complete your undergraduate studies. I believe you can expect to be wooed._

_Samuel, there is so much good that you can do in this world when you are ready to continue. I hope that you will be back with us soon. I miss you son!_

_I hope to hear from you soon, Edward_

The ridge on the top of the wooden chair pressed harshly into Dean's shoulders blades, as though the weight of what he read was pushing him backwards. He didn't even remember sitting down. All it would take was a couple of keystrokes to delete the message, make it go away. Pretend it had never been there. But that wouldn't erase the knowledge of it from his memory. And that knowledge was what was shredding apart something inside of him.

He'd known Sam wanted to go back to school, he'd said as much in Chicago. But not yet. At some hazy, undefined future point in time, after the demon that killed Mom and Jess was history. There could be a lot of time before that happened. Enough time for Dean to convince Sam that breaking up the team was a bad idea. Enough time for Sam to realize that what he was doing was more important than anything he could do as a 'civilian'. Enough time for Dean to feel like he had a family again.

But apparently Sam couldn't wait. From the sound of it he had talked to this professor fairly recently. Since Chicago. So that was it? Daddy wouldn't let him play the game the way he wanted so he was taking his ball and going home? Son. Of. A. Bitch.

Anger uncurled slowly in Dean's gut, small tendrils rolling outwards and mixing with the pain. He had thought that the last nine…ten?...months of partnership had meant something to his brother. Guess not. But that he thought so little of Dean…to not even bother to give him a heads up, a friendly little 'So listen bro, starting in September you can go back to having oreos for dinner with no one bitching at you'…

Or maybe he was afraid poor Dean wouldn't be able to handle it if he left. Sammy had a big surprise coming then. Dean wasn't the one who needed to be surrounded by people, that was Sam's gig. The professor was probably right about there being lots of people who would want Sam with them. Sam was good at gathering friends because he had to be. He didn't have the guts to stand on his own. He didn't have the guts to stick things out. Dean had handled doing this job alone for over three years and he'd been fine. Even when he was with Dad he was alone… If Sam couldn't hack it then he should leave… Dean wouldn't lift a hand to…

For some unaccountable reason Dean was having trouble breathing. There was an ache in the center of his chest. He was too young for another heart attack, right? The doctors had said his heart was fine now. No, it was more likely an ulcer. His stomach was clenching up too.

Dean pushed himself out of the chair and began to pace the room. If Sam wanted to leave, fine. It wasn't like Dean was holding him against his will. It wasn't like Meg had made it sound in Chicago. Sam'd never been cut out for hunting anyway. He wasn't tough enough to do what needed to be done sometimes. Hell, he wasn't even tough enough to tell his brother that he was planning on leaving in a month. There was no place in their job for that kind of dishonesty, that type of easy betrayal. Dean would be better off without him.

He paused in front of the doorway into the bathroom. The smell of antiseptic was strong there, wafting off of the used gauze pads in the trash can. The towel that had been wrapped around Sam's arm was sitting next to the sink, large patches of pink adorning it where Sam's blood had been absorbed by the wet terry cloth. Sam's blood. He'd seen too much of Sam's blood since he'd taken him from Stanford. He turned quickly and strode away from the silent condemnation that filled the small room. The next thought came unbidden, it seeped into his brain and his heart the same way Sam's blood had seeped into the towel. He'd promised to keep Sam safe, he'd promised that he wouldn't let anything bad happen to him. Maybe that promise meant he should let Sam go back to school. Maybe it meant he should **make sure** he went back to school.

Dean dropped down onto the end of the bed and buried his face in his hands.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Sam rested his hands over the top of the steering wheel and leaned his forehead against them. He was determined to avoid another stupid argument with Dean. The constant arguments were probably why he was so tired. Admittedly the 'almost' argument before he left for the food had been his fault. He had been keyed up, itching for a fight. No problem with that now. Weariness had crashed into him when he was sitting in McDonalds, and his headache was gnawing on the edges of his brain. He pushed open the Impala's door, wincing at the trademark loud squeak

He managed to carry everything to their motel room door but then stared dumbly at the doorknob. Okay, time for a juggling act. Edge of Mickey D bag between teeth, soda carrier in left hand, key in right, kick the door open and then reach down to grab the local newspapers piled at his feet.

The sudden movement of the door caught Dean by surprise, at least if his jumping up from his seat on the end of the bed was any indication. Since when did he not hear the key in the lock? Sam kept his eyes trained on his brother, his forehead wrinkled in puzzlement, as he crossed to put the McDonald's bounty down on the table. Puzzlement turned to worry. Dean looked like someone had kicked him in the gut.

"Dean, what's the matter? Are you okay? Did something happen? Is it Dad?" The words came out in a rush, Sam's mind tripping over the list of possibilities that could bring that look of pain to his brother's face. "C'mon man, what's going on?"

Sam could actually see it happening. Dean pulling back into himself, his face smoothing into a blank wall, the shutters coming down over his eyes. The protective coloring was such an art form with his brother that his body language even changed. Shoulders dropped, legs relaxed. He was the only man Sam knew who could give the appearance of swaggering when he was standing still.

The transformation was complete. From stunned pain to cocky indifference in three easy steps.

And now Sam was terrified. He glanced around the room for some clue as to why Mr. Hyde had just come for a visit. Okay, the pain in his head was making him a little fuzzy, but he just wasn't seeing it.

Dean pointed nonchalantly at the laptop. "You got some mail, Sam. I thought it might be about the hunt, so I read it. Sorry." The 'sorry' had about as much sincerity as a cat apologizing before it eats the canary.

Sam tapped a key to get rid of the screensaver and began to read the letter that filled the screen. His stomach did a nosedive, ending up somewhere in the vicinity of his toes.

"Dean, I…" His voice was hoarse, a little too low to hear. Sounding incredibly guilty. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Dean, I don't… I mean I'm not…" Great. Now he sounded both guilty and like he was lying. And the kicker was, he was neither. The only thing he was guilty of was allowing a dear friend and mentor to have hope. Even as Sam's owns hopes of ever finishing his degree were diminishing.

Finishing it in the coming year and going on to law school were nice dreams. Dreams that his friends at Stanford held for him. He didn't have those dreams for himself anymore, but he couldn't bring himself to kill them in his friends. He needed for them to still believe, because if they believed strongly enough then maybe, someday, it could happen. He'd always been a sucker for the part in Peter Pan where everyone claps if they believe. If they clap long enough, and hard enough, they can keep magic alive. Sam needed his friends, needed people like Edward, to keep that magic alive, because he sure as hell couldn't do that for himself anymore.

And that hurt so bad sometimes that he felt like the weight of it would crush him.

It was beyond ludicrous that he had finally accepted the way things were, the way things had to be, and Dean didn't believe him. What the hell did his brother want from him?

"Dean, I didn't ask Edward to do any of that, it was his idea. It meant a lot to him so I didn't stop him," he said quietly.

Dean shrugged his right shoulder as though the whole thing was no big deal. "No sweat Sammy, I get it. Hey, it wasn't your doing, you're not responsible. No need to talk to me about it because you're not the one who's setting things up, right? Nice deal. I mean, you're not going anywhere, but hey, just in case, everything is all set." Sam knew his brother, knew he was trying for nonchalant, but the words came out hard and fast.

"Dean, I'm not going to run out on you, man. This is my fight too, but even if it wasn't…I just wouldn't do that." It was Sam's turn to collapse onto the end of one of the beds. He looked up at Dean with pleading eyes.

"You did it before, Sam. Oh wait, it wasn't you that time either. It was Dad forcing you to go." The sarcasm in Dean's voice grated across the patience Sam was struggling mightily to keep a grip on. "C'mon Sammy at least be honest with yourself. You cut and ran the last time things got tough. Now you're mad at Dad again, you feel like he's shutting you out again. Isn't that your cue to exit stage left? Convenient to have your escape plan all arranged for you like that."

"Jesus Christ, Dean! What do you want from me? I'm not looking for an escape plan, I'm not going anywhere! I don't know how to convince you! I trust you with my life, why can't you trust me even a little bit?" Sam's voice started to rise. He really wasn't up for this argument. His head was too fuzzy and they were starting to tread on some pretty dangerous ground.

Dean dropped the façade of indifference and his voice rose to match Sam's. "I want to Sam, I really do. But you've made it clear over and over again that you don't want hunting in your life. You're not committed to it. Sammy, that commitment, that devotion, that Dad and I have? Sometimes that's all that keeps us going! Keeping our focus has saved our lives! All of this," he waved towards the computer, "is a distraction. And distractions can get you killed." His voice had dropped, he said the last line with chilling intensity.

Sam went cold. Guess he was right about Dean not trusting him as a partner on the hunts, either. He was surprised at the wave of grief that filled him at that thought. "Dean, what are you saying?"

"As long as you're not completely committed to what we're doing…I think maybe you should consider taking the professor up on his offer!" Anger was clear in Dean's voice as he shot the words out. Sam might have convinced himself that his brother was just caught up in the heat of the argument if Dean hadn't suddenly gone completely calm. His shoulders dropped and he continued quietly, deliberately. "After we're done with this hunt, I think it might be time for you to go back to school."

The words hit Sam like a truck. He was sure there must have been an earthquake or something, because the earth was opening under his feet. He didn't hear the slight crack in Dean's voice that belied the words. He didn't remember the pain that had been plain to see on Dean's face when he had first come through the door. All he knew was that the one person he trusted more than any other was saying that the trust was one sided. He wasn't needed, he wasn't wanted.

"You want me gone? You'd rather hunt alone?" Dean's gaze was steady on him, not denying the words. Sam's anger was gone. He was wrong when he thought giving up on school hurt. That was a pinprick compared to this. He hung his head and looked at the floor. His mind was cloudy and he was starting to feel like he wasn't tracking well. "You and dad," he gave a snort of laughter that hovered on the edge of a sob. "I don't know why I didn't see it. So damn much alike. He made it pretty clear four years ago that my best wasn't good enough. Why did you come get me from school if you feel the same way?" He looked at Dean with his eyes narrowed, searching for an answer. He began to shake his head with a sad smile. "Want to know the funny part? You and Dad are wrong. You think because I'm not devoted to hunting for the sake of hunting that I'm not committed. You have no idea how wrong you are. I'm committed to you, I'm committed to Dad…I always have been," he ended in a strained whisper.

Dean opened his mouth to talk but Sam held up a hand to stop him. "I can't take it anymore, Dean. I can't do it. I can't convince either of you of something you don't want to believe, and I'm too tired to keep trying. You're either going to believe me, or you're not. It's up to you to decide. When this hunt is done, if you want me gone, I'm gone." He was tired, numb except for the banshee wail in his head. He just didn't have the reserves to hold himself together. All the little pieces that Dean's quiet support had helped him to put back together after Jess's death shattered.

The room was suffocating. The swirl of strong emotions seemed to have pushed all of the oxygen out of it. If he sat there he was going to embarrass himself by passing out in front of his brother. Dean was just standing there looking at him, his face working like he wanted to say something. Sam didn't think he could handle hearing any more. Enough had been said. He stood up quickly and pulled one of the newspapers from the pile he had put on the table. He cleared his throat before even trying his voice. Surprisingly, it came out sounding pretty normal. A little quiet, a little flat, but not bad. "There's a Dunkin Donuts down the block. I'm gonna walk down and have a cup of coffee." He held up the newspaper. "Evening edition local. Has a lot of info about the fire. If we're going to be anywhere near it, we need to know what we're dealing with." He started towards the door.

"Sam, wait." Interesting that it was Dean's voice that sounded a bit strangled.

Sam turned to look at him.

Emotions worked across Dean's face. Sam just didn't have the energy to figure out what that meant. Dean finally sighed. Sad resignation seemed to have won the war for Dean's countenance. "It…ummm…it could be dangerous going by yourself. We don't know where our friend is."

"This seems to have turned into a hot spot for people who left the park, there's a lot of people out there. We're lucky we got the room." Sam smiled coldly at his brother. "You better go ahead and eat while it's still edible. I can take care of myself." Not bad, he must have absorbed a thing or two from his brother. He managed to close the door behind him with a quiet click. His hands didn't start to shake until he was half way to the Dunkin Donuts.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Dean stood there silently after the door closed, not moving. Nope, moving wouldn't be a good idea. Too many things were broken inside. As long as he just stood there, numb, it would be okay. Once he moved, he just knew he was going to start breaking apart. He was certain of it.

When he finally did move he found out he was right. It hurt like a bitch. So he just went far enough to pick up the McDonalds bag. It made a satisfying 'thunk' when it hit the bottom of the trash can.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**A/N 2**: I have a very great respect for the Navajo culture and people. The family name 'Betzgai' is a conglomeration of other common Navajo names. Skinwalkers embody a set of values that run completely counter to the Navajo way. I did not want to use a real name for the skinwalker, because to do so would have been a great dishonor to that family.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Your kind reviews, alerts…your interest in my meager efforts have truly made me smile. I hope you are enjoying the story. Surplus—I haven't forgotten we're still in the middle of our college debate. LOL

Jenilee—I am speechless. Your talent and generosity have overwhelmed me. Quite honestly, I cried when I opened it. This story exists because you kept me interested in writing it. Thank you.

**Warning: **Just a reminder. These are men raised by a marine. They curse.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. No profit made…except for the fun of playing with them and the super big helping of warm fuzzies I've gotten from realizing just how wonderful some of my friends are.

From Chapter 5:

_Dean stood there silently after the door closed, not moving. Nope, moving wouldn't be a good idea. Too many things were broken inside. As long as he just stood there, numb, it would be okay. Once he moved, he just knew he was going to start breaking apart. He was certain of it. _

_When he finally did move he found out he was right. It hurt like a bitch. So he just went far enough to pick up the McDonalds bag. It made a satisfying 'thunk' when it hit the bottom of the trash can._

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**Hozho Chapter 6**

"Down there, I want to be able to see the map." Sam pointed to the front row of benches in the Loft amphitheater. Large plywood sheets mounted on wooden legs like huge easels sat on the flat area in front of the amphitheater's rustic bandshell. The plywood was covered with oversized maps and lists of information. Sam fingered the press pass hanging around his neck. "These should get us a good spot."

Half of the Loft Mountain campground had been taken over by the Forest Service firefighting crews as a base camp and staging area. Firefighters had pitched their one person tents in the campground, and the command team had set up trailers and large tents near the camp store. Part of the campground, and facilities like the wayside, were still open to the public.

Sam led the way past rows of benches as they headed to the front. Dean was getting used to the view of Sam's back. It was pretty much all he'd seen of his brother all day. Which was a pretty good trick considering the amount of time they spent together in the Impala. Every place they stopped, Sam was out of the car so fast it looked like he had been shot from a damn cannon. He had forged ahead every step of the way, not waiting for his brother. When he couldn't get around coming face to face with Dean he hid behind a pair of dark sunglasses that had been glued to his face since the morning. He always had been an overachiever.

Not one word had been said between them about the previous night's discussion. Of course not a whole lot of words had been said about anything else, either. The tension was so thick between them Dean felt it almost like a physical thing. That was fine with him. He didn't want to 'talk about it' or 'explore his feelings'. Sam's attitude was a little unnerving, though. No emo brooding for Oprah junior this time. Sam was just…flat. The waves of cold indifference coming off of him were enough to give Dean frostbite.

They had spent the day exploring the area and learning the lay of the land, chatting up visitors and employees wherever they could find them, and haunting the ranger station with press passes in hand. And gotten zilch. No sign of the skinwalker or the white truck, no news of additional animal attacks.

The only positive news of the day was that Sam's arm seemed fine. Dean had insisted on checking it and rewrapping it when he'd caught Sam popping more ibuprofen in the morning, supposedly for a headache. It must have been a doozy because Sam was an interesting shade of pale. At least he seemed to be. It was tough to tell past the hair and the glasses.

They settled on a bench close to the front as other people worked their way to seats. A mix of visitors and reporters were there to hear the evening fire information briefing. Although small compared to some of the behemoth wildfires that hit western states, the 'Hangman Fire' was a good size for this part of the country and was attracting a bit of attention.

Sam laid his backpack on the bench next to him and pulled a notebook and pen from one of its pockets. Dean looked at him with his eyebrows raised.

"We're reporters, remember?" Sam whispered.

"Okay, Clark," Dean smirked.

Sam gave no indication that he had even heard the comment and Dean's smile faded. With a small pang he realized how much he had been hoping for a snarky reply. Hell, he'd have been satisfied with an eye roll. It was starting to feel like Sam was already gone. He sighed and glanced away. He'd better get used to it.

Dean turned his attention to the two men who stepped out in front of the mounted maps. They were dressed alike in green pants and yellow T shirts. The smaller of the two held a microphone and a large clipboard.

"Good evening, I'm Tom Barrows, the Hangman Fire information officer." He gestured at the man next to him. "This here is Ken Pita, the head of the SACC's White Team and our incident commander."

He lost Dean a few words into the introduction. This was definitely more Sammy's thing. Dean settled himself more comfortable on the hard bench and adjusted the ear bud nestled in his left ear. A thin wire ran from the earpiece to an oversize pocket on the leg of his hiking pants. The scanner was tucked inside, just the antennae visible. They had taken turns babysitting the damn thing and listening to the nonstop chatter. It had been a pain in the ass, but there was this Rockingham County dispatcher who almost made it worth it. She had the silkiest voice and a husky laugh…

An elbow to the side got his attention and Sam gave a quick jerk of his head to the two men in front of the audience. The incident commander had possession of the microphone and was pointing at the map.

"As ya'll know, the winds have been making our job difficult. We had two days of strong westerly winds and they pushed the fire from here to here." His hand moved across the map, pointing out the fire's path. "We had to pull our crews out of the Big Run area yesterday when the fire jumped the containment line there."

Dean shot a look at his brother. From the looks of the map the winds had pushed the fire down Rockytop, across the valley, and up Brown Mountain, burning a swath across the north end of the Big Run valley. Much of the southern end of the valley looked like it had avoided the fire. Including the area where the skinwalker had attacked the horses. Maybe they could still make it in there…

"Now today Mother Nature kept us on our toes," the IC continued. "Winds shifted to come out of the Northeast, pushing the fire back into the unburned area around Big Run."

…or maybe not.

"Winds've died down now and the fire should be laying down for us tonight, but we won't know just how much was burned around Big Run until we get a chance to map it." He pointed out where they were setting up their new containment lines outside of the valley. The campground would remain available for them to use unless the fire passed some type of 'trigger point'. If that happened and Loft was evacuated the brothers would need a new place to hurry up and wait for the skinwalker.

The most interesting bit of information came in response to a breathless tourist's question.

"Yes, ma'am, as a matter of fact firefighters on a fire road headed to Brown Mountain in the morning heard what sounded like a mountain lion scream from somewhere near Big Run."

Not for the first time, Dean regretted not getting his hands on a picture of Wilson Betzgai. He turned on the bench, running his eyes over the crowd in back of them. For all they knew the 'mountain lion' wasn't in the valley anymore, he was in the amphitheater with them.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Snarls, low and menacing, coming close and then fading to silence. The silence more terrifying, the feeling of held breath, the anticipation of a sudden attack…There! It was coming!

Sam jerked upwards in the car seat, his heart hammering in time to the pounding in his head. He pushed himself against the back of the seat so hard it seemed like he was trying to push through it. His head swiveled from side to side looking for the coming attack. The air in the car was cloying, thick and sweet. He was awake now, he knew he was awake, but he felt heavy and dull, shadows pulsed and pushed around the edges of his vision. Thick fear covered him like a blanket.

He scrabbled for the door handle, shoving the door open in desperation and spilling out of the car in a tangle of limbs. His knees hit the ground and he leaned against the edge of the door breathing harshly. The night air was warm, but didn't have the viscous feel of the air in the car. The fear began to ebb away and his breathing slowed.

It took two tries before his shaky legs were able to hold him and he knew he probably looked like a drunkard, swaying as he stepped aside to push the car door closed. He collapsed against the side of the car, gratefully letting it support his weight as he looked around the area, trying to figure out what had spooked him.

Nothing. There was nothing out of place around him. They were still in the camp store parking lot, at the far edge of the lot. Closer to the store a number of trailers were parked. Even though it was close to one a.m., members of the incident management team still bustled around, moving back and forth through the pools of light like they were all on important missions. Sam had spent time with them earlier, his press credentials giving him the opportunity to watch them work while Dean grabbed some sleep in the Impala.

They had switched places after a couple of hours so that Sam could also rest. He snorted at the thought. That had certainly worked out well. He felt like crap. Achy and tired, dizzy, the pain in his head beating a steady drumbeat. Having his rest interrupted by a nightmare didn't help. It was ironic that the one thing he expected to hurt was fine. His arm was sore, but not excessively so. This wasn't the onset of infection. If anything, he was fighting off a plain old fashioned virus of some type.

He rubbed his hand over his face, trying to dispel the lingering vestiges of the fear he'd felt in the car.

"Hey."

Sam jerked his head up with a startled hiss.

"Whoa, Samantha, it's only me."

"Dean! Don't sneak up on me like that!" Sam would've been happier if there was a little more bite and a little less shakiness to his voice.

"Here, I got you some food." Dean handed over a wrapped sandwich and can of soda, his eyes searching Sam's face. "You okay? You don't look too good. Kinda green. I never thought that was a good color on you."

"I'm fine." Sam wouldn't meet his brother's eyes. He unwrapped the sandwich and took a big bite, trying to prove his words. "Where'd you get this stuff? The store can't still be open."

"Nah, they've got food out over by the mess tent for the fire crews."

Sam gave a quick nod acknowledging his brother's sometimes uncanny ability to home in on free food when it was available. "Did you find out anything new?"

"Nothing on the scanner." It was once again Dean's turn to baby-sit the scanner and he tapped the earbud lightly for emphasis. "But I 'interviewed' one of the members of the command staff—"

"What was her name?" Sam asked around a bite of the sandwich.

"Chelsea…Anyway, I found out that with the winds dying down they got a look at the valley from the air. They just finished mapping it. Get this—the fire didn't really get back down into the Big Run." He looked at Sam meaningfully. "And it's not likely to for the rest of the night."

"You're thinking we should head in there." Sam took a big swig of soda hoping the caffeine would help to clear his head. Tired or not, he agreed with Dean. They had wasted a day waiting for something to happen. A day with nothing to distract him from the hurt and anger that were trying to consume him. They hadn't diminished since the night before. If anything, the feelings had become stronger, settling more heavily into his bones with each moment he spent trapped in the Impala with Dean. Hunting for a murdering skinwalker? Hiking into a valley that trained fire crews were smart enough to stay out of? Now _those_ were distractions.

Dean looked at Sam expectantly, waiting for his verdict on a hike into the valley. He stilled suddenly, an almost comical look of surprise on his face, before hauling the scanner from his pocket. He yanked the plug out of the headphone jack so that they could both hear the small speaker.

"…_caller said it was at the southern end of the campground. Couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman being attacked but the cat dragged them into the woods somewhere near lot 136."_

"_Received. I'm at the fire camp with Jimmy. We're heading to lot 136 now. I want every available man here YESTERDAY!"_

The voice over the radio came out in harsh pants as if the speaker was running. Sam and Dean watched as two men in park uniforms sprinted away from a trailer on the other side of the parking lot. The men dove into a park service jeep and tore out of the lot towards the campground access road. The area around the trailers came to life as more lights were switched on and people started to scramble from nearby tents.

"_Get the Fish and Wildlife trackers back up here, I want EMS up here pronto. Coordinate with Ken Pita with the fire service. His people said they can give us a search crew. Call Daly over at county and see what kind of manpower they can send us. Tell them we're going to need a helispot set up if the victim has to be flown to the trauma center."_

Dean had a map of the area spread across the hood of the car and was holding a flashlight over it before the ranger was even finished speaking. Going to the site of the attack would be a waste of time. The skinwalker was too smart to stay there now that he had been spotted. They had the advantage of being able to at least make an educated guess about what the creature's next move would be.

Sam leaned over to see as Dean traced a finger along the map. "Here." Dean tapped a spot on the map with confidence. "This is the best spot to cross from the AT into the Big Run. He'll probably head there, and we'll be waiting." Dean grabbed the map off of the hood and ran to the driver's door. "We'll leave the car at the Doyles lot. It's right there."

The spot that Dean pointed out was three miles south of Loft on the Skyline Drive, close to the trailhead and parking area for the Doyles River Trail. They rode in tense silence as Sam prepared the weapons they would need. He ignored the slight shake to his hand as a cold chill worked its way up his spine and gripped the back of his neck. A park ranger's car passed them heading to the campground, its lights flashing. The ranger didn't seem to care that Dean's car was ignoring Skyline's 35 mph speed limit. The scanner sat on the seat between them, broadcasting the calls for help as they went out over numerous channels. The first rangers had reached the site of the attack but hadn't found anything yet.

The Impala was the only vehicle in the Doyles parking area when they climbed out. They stood next to the car for a moment while their eyes adjusted to the moonlit night. The flashlights would remain in their pockets unless absolutely needed. Their glare would destroy the hunters' night vision.

The coldness that had gripped Sam in the car began to fade away. He forgot about the headache, forgot about the tiredness, when Dean gestured towards the Doyles River trailhead. Even when he was away at school it hadn't left him. The ability to be at home in the night, senses alive, alert…a hunter. Jess had seen it. He would never know if it attracted her, or repelled her.

They slipped silently down the trail, stopping at its intersection with the AT. Dean moved quietly into the woods on the upper side of the trail while Sam ghosted across the open space, disappearing into the trees on the other side. He allowed his feet to slide a few feet down the slope bringing his head and chest closer to the level of the trail and allowing him to see under the screen of bushes. His senses were open to everything around him, straining to pick up any anomaly in the night.

He rested his left hand on the edge of the trail, ready to push off if he needed to get to his feet quickly. His fingertips brushed lightly against something sticky on the trail and Sam drew his hand back with a grimace of distaste. There was a dark patch of some type on the dirt and he pulled his flashlight out, his fingers shielding the light as he turned it on. There was no mistaking the deep red color that the light revealed.

He hoisted himself onto the trail and moved the flashlight back and forth in slow sweeps. "Dean." He said it quietly, sure his brother had already figured out what he was doing. Sam pointed down when Dean emerged from the trees. "He already made it by here."

In addition to the blood there were signs that something had been dragged along the trail. The most telltale evidence that they had missed their chance of an ambush was in soft sand at the edge of the trail. It held a partial track from a large cat. Sam sighed in frustration. While the brothers had been confined to the road, the skinwalker's route on the AT was much more direct and a quarter of the distance. Without further discussion they headed back to the car for their backpacks. The quick resolution that they had hoped for had just turned into what was probably going to be a grueling night of tracking.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Their time on the AT was short. After just about a hundred yards they found themselves following the skinwalker's trail up a slight slope and emerging onto the Drive. "Guess we're getting our wish," Dean muttered. Directly across the Drive from that spot was the Big Run Overlook.

They moved to the low stone wall on the edge of the overlook. The vista of green mountaintops stretching into the distance was hidden in the night, turned into a series of dark humps bumping up against the moonlit sky. Below them the valley was an open black maw, silent and waiting.

"Charming," Dean whispered. He pointed to the right. An orange-red glow wreathed the top of a mountain to their north. There were more muted spots of orange light decorating a mountaintop on the other side of the valley, to their left.

Sam looked at his brother with raised eyebrows. "You sure you heard them right about the fire not growing tonight?" He didn't wait for a reply before stepping through a break in the wall and heading down the path into the valley. "Why is it I can't get _The Charge of the Light Brigade_ out of my head?" he asked softly over his shoulder.

They descended the steep trail quickly and quietly, following the switchbacks into the valley. Dragging a victim is difficult to do without leaving signs. It was a little daunting to consider the sheer strength of the skinwalker who remained ahead of them despite his burden, and did not appear to have paused or stopped to rest.

The brothers halted briefly when they crossed a dry creek about a mile down the trail, checking to make sure the creature hadn't veered onto the path presented by the creek bed. Sam grabbed the chance to pull a couple of ibuprofen tablets from his pocket and wash them down with a long sip from his water bottle. He didn't actually try to hide his actions, but he did try to make them seem nonchalant. He should have known better.

"How's your arm?" Dean asked gruffly.

Sam flexed his wrist and clenched and unclenched his fist a couple of times. "Fine," he answered honestly.

"Still got that headache?"

"Yeah."

Dean looked at him sharply. "You sure your arm's not getting infected?"

"I told you, it's fine," Sam said with an edge to his voice. His patience was wearing thin with the overprotective act considering the things that had been said the night before. Based on that conversation, it seemed more likely that Dean just didn't trust Sam to tell him the truth. "I know better than to lie about something like that Dean. Don't worry, I can hold up my end," he snapped. And he meant it. The slight dizziness and disorientation that had plagued him earlier seemed to have abated since they started their trek in the warm night air. He didn't feel one hundred percent, but he'd handled hunts in the past feeling much worse.

Dean stepped back with a blank expression. "After you." He gestured at the trail and Sam resumed walking.

"But Sam," Dean spoke quietly and Sam slowed his step for a second to listen, "I want to know if you start feeling worse." Sam gave a quick jerk of his head in acknowledgement and picked up speed again.

The trail rose slightly about a half mile later and Sam hesitated briefly while he thought back to the topo maps they had practically memorized. After this rise the trail would make its final drop, losing about five hundred feet in elevation and depositing them at the head of the Big Run itself. Sam had begun thinking of the spot where they currently stood as the point of no return. Not exactly the cheeriest way to look at it, but in keeping with his current mood. A long dark streak on the ground assured them they were still on the right track.

"Too much blood lost," Dean muttered under his breath. "Somehow I don't think this is going to be a rescue."

Descending the final five hundred feet was like walking into a moderate fog. The same weather inversion that caused the fire to 'lie down' for the night had also dropped the smoke from the mountains down into the valley where it caught in the more enclosed pockets. It was like a heavy mist shifting around them. In some areas it cleared enough for them to see the surrounding landscape, but in other areas it pushed close, thick and heavy, obscuring trees and boulders until they were almost on top of them. They slowed down and drew closer together, their ears straining to make up for their faltering eyesight.

A small stream marked the intersection with the Big Run Portal trail. They turned right onto the trail, heading deeper into the valley. A partial paw print in the mud next to the stream assured them they were going the right way.

The smoke was creating a constant tickle in the back of Sam's throat and he fought against coughing to clear it. If the slight noises coming from Dean were any indication, he was having the same problem. Sam's eyes began to sting and water and he wiped the back of his hand across them.

His nerves were stretched taut by the smoke pressing in against them. He shifted his grip on his gun when he realized that he was clasping it so tightly that his hand was starting to hurt. Soft whispers of the fear that had been smothering him in the car brushed against his mind. He couldn't take a deep breath because of the smoke, and the pain in his head ratcheted up a notch. The trail seemed to tilt under his feet and he stumbled.

His brother's hand was on his shoulder in an instant, a heavy and reassuring weight that steadied him. "Okay?" Dean's voice was a soft whisper against his ear.

"Smoke's making me a little dizzy," Sam admitted.

"You're not the only one," Dean reassured him. "Hang in there. This opens to a larger valley in a little bit and it should get better."

Sam fought to reconcile the understanding and concern in his brother's voice with the cold eyed hunter who had so recently admitted to not trusting him. His own reaction to the appearance of 'Big Brother Dean' confused him. With everything that had been said he couldn't understand how his brother could still be such a calming presence, could make Sam feel stronger…feel safer.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. Something about the whole situation just wasn't right. Sam was starting to think the headache was affecting him and clouding his thought processes a lot more than he realized. And not just about his brother.

The small stream that was their companion on the Portal Trail joined together with a slightly larger one and the valley opened up, allowing much of the smoke to lift. With the improved visibility came the realization that the Portal Trail was actually an old fire road, probably the same road that the fire crews had been trying to use as part of a containment line the day before. Once again a paw print marked the path for them. The sight clarified a thought that had been struggling to form in Sam's mind.

"Dean, it was a false trail that suckered us yesterday." He looked at his brother with his eyebrows raised and saw Dean's jaw clench in response.

"Yeah, I know. But I don't see that we have a lot of choice here, Sam. Tracking him is the only game in town right now," Dean answered matter-of-factly. "Just stay sharp."

The skinwalker's trail continued to follow the old fire road. Wisps of smoke occasionally drifted past, the only active reminder that fire sat on the top of the mountains around them. Both hunters walked carefully, keeping to the shadows where possible. Their eyes probed the dark recesses around them, looking for the hint of light fur that would show the mountain lion.

The trail curved gently to the right and they were facing into the heart of the valley now, Rockytop rising steeply on their left. They were still a couple of miles from the spot where the fire had burnt through, but already they could see signs of the fire crew's original efforts to stop the fire within the valley. Brush had been cleared along both sides of the Big Run, leaving a swath of land with no fuel for the fire on either side of the stream. Tire marks from brushfire trucks marred the dirt. If not for the high winds, the cleared land and judicious backburning would probably have stopped the fire from ever reaching Brown Mountain on the other side of the Run.

Dean was the one to spot the sign when the tracks left the trail and began to move up the slope of Rockytop. The disturbed dirt held the night's first clear impression of a complete paw print and Dean whistled softy. "That is one freakin' huge mountain lion." He looked at Sam and then made a show of checking his gun's magazine. "I'd feel a little better if this was a bazooka."

Sam looked at the tracks and went cold. "Dean, you notice something odd?" He pointed at the ground around the tracks. "He's not dragging anything anymore."

"Son of a bitch," Dean breathed softly. He glanced at the trail in back of them. "How could we have missed seeing the victim?"

"I think we've just been following his tracks for a while now. He could have dropped them back in the smoke and we'd have never seen them," Sam replied tiredly.

Dean dropped his head and his shoulders slumped. "Son of a bitch," he repeated sadly. Logically they knew the chances were miniscule, but that hadn't stopped them from hoping for a rescue. He looked at Sam with hard eyes. "So we make sure that was his last victim," he said, his voice like ice.

Sam tilted his head back and looked at the slope rising above them. The cleared area ended about thirty feet up, and the tracks seemed to disappear into a break in the brush. It was difficult to see in the dim light, but it looked like there was an area of boulders and a low ridge farther up the slope. The pit of Sam's stomach churned nervously at the sight, but he clamped down on the fear before it could spread and began to follow the tracks. Dean covered the rear, making sure the cat didn't double around to flank them.

They moved past the edge of the brush and it became clear that the creature was actually following an old animal path. It cut between boulders and trees and was steep and rocky in sections. The trees began to thin and fall away until all that was left between them and the low ridge was a mid-sized rock scramble. The area of piled rocks and boulders would require some effort to climb, but wouldn't require special equipment.

The scramble itself would not be dangerous. The peril would come from the fact that the person traversing the rocks would be defenseless, needing both hands to maneuver their way up.

Vertigo tilted the world around Sam for a moment as his eyes followed the jumble of rocks to the top. He shook his head, forcing himself to concentrate. There were a couple of spots that looked threatening, where the mountain lion could be hidden, waiting. "Do you think you'll have a good angle to cover me if I go first?"

Dean eyed the trail and nodded. "If you stay to the right, along this line of rocks." He used his gun to indicate the route he meant and Sam nodded in agreement. It was easy to see once Dean pointed it out. There were enough well placed boulders to step on and to provide handholds to make it an easy climb, and it would keep Sam out of Dean's line of fire if the cat appeared while he was climbing. There were other routes that looked quicker and easier, but the one they were considering was the only one that would allow Dean to cover Sam past the suspicious spots. Once Sam confirmed the possible hiding places were empty, Dean would be able to follow up one of the easier routes while Sam covered him from the ridge.

Sam tucked his gun into the front of his pants and turned to start up the pile of boulders. He was stopped by Dean's hand on his shoulder. His brother's expression was lost in the shadows until he shifted to the side and a shaft of moonlight fell across his face. Sam was rocked by the fear that marked Dean's features. The expression quickly morphed into a normal look of concern. "You be careful, Sam. This guy is bad news."

Unbidden affection tightened Sam's throat, and for a moment it was the two of them the way it used to be. When they could practically read each other's minds and their trust in each other was complete. Sam grasped the feeling with both hands and held on tight. He gave his bother a small, tentative smile. "I'll be fine. You've got my back." He turned away before Dean had a chance to reply. A part of him was afraid that Dean's smart mouth would break the spell, and he wanted to hold onto the illusion that things were okay between them for just a little while longer.

He took the climb slow and easy, making sure his brother could keep track of everything around him and warn him of any threats. He stopped when he suddenly became winded about three quarters of the way up and took a couple of deep breaths. The palm of his right hand was coated with a fine ash that covered some of the boulders he'd used as handholds and he wiped it down his pants before grabbing his water bottle. Hopefully that didn't mean they were closer to the fire than they thought.

He recapped the bottle and put it away before continuing to climb. Thank God he was almost at the top. He'd felt okay when he started climbing, but now the backpack felt like it was full of bricks and he was having trouble catching a full breath. He reached the top of the ridge and squatted there, waiting for a strong wave of vertigo to pass before he tried to stand. The ridge was fairly narrow with a steep slope down the backside and he didn't want to inadvertently tumble down it. Nope, that wouldn't be good. The pack on his shoulders felt like it was pulling him backwards and he slipped it off gratefully as his eyes roamed dully over the ground around him. There was something he was supposed to be doing…

Oh yeah. He felt sluggish and spots danced in front of his eyes as he forced himself to his feet. Gotta make sure it's safe up here and cover Dean. The jumble of boulders on the left side of the scramble continued up and over the ridge. Sam looked at them closely, trying to see into their shadows. Mountain lion was light, right? Should be able to see him in the dark.

An arctic wind chilled Sam from the inside out as he looked into the shadows. He pulled the gun from the front of his pants and attempted to raise it, but for some reason it weighed a ton. The world was spinning around him and his vision was closing in from the edges. He could feel himself swaying but couldn't seem to stop it. There was movement in the shadows, not light, but dark. Black against black. Pinpoints of red opened in front of him and moved closer.

Why couldn't he move? He had the gun, he had a great shot, he could end it all right now. If only he could move. There was a low snarl in front of him and sharp white teeth appeared in the blackness.

He could hear Dean's voice yell his name, telling him to do something, but he didn't know what. His whole body was weighted and useless. If he could just concentrate… He heard it clearly that time. His brother's voice screaming his name, full of desperation and a fear so strong it almost knocked Sam's legs out from under him. He couldn't let this happen, couldn't do this to Dean. Something loosened inside of him and he had the gun up, wavering and unsteady. He pulled the trigger in the same instant the blackness leapt towards him, red eyes vicious and angry. His senses had a moment of clarity and he heard the small grunt when the bullet skimmed the creature's side, heard his brother's shocked cry, and then agony filled his world. Claws slashed across his left side, shredding his shirt, ripping through the flesh over his ribs. He was flying through the air and then tumbling, sliding, a kaleidoscope of colors behind his eyes until it all went black.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

A light smile played around Dean's lips as he watched Sam scrambling up the boulders with ease. He'd never admit it to his little brother, but he got a kick out of watching him do things like that. It always amazed him that a gangly, geeky teenager could grow into a man who could move with such grace and strength. Yep, the brat was a chip off the old Dean block.

His eyes narrowed as he focused in on his brother. Something didn't look right. He was just over halfway up and his movements were losing their fluidity, becoming jerky. It was such a marked difference and had come on so quickly that something had to have caused it. Could he have wrenched a knee or something? Sam stopped not long after that and stood perched on a flat boulder while he pulled out his water. He didn't seem to be favoring either leg as he stood there, but there was just something off about his stance.

Dean started pacing back and forth, his breath catching in his throat when Sam continued climbing. If he didn't have to keep Sam covered he'd be on his way up the slope already. There was definitely something wrong with his brother.

He breathed a sigh of relief when Sam made it to the ridge. As soon as he had his gun out and could defend himself Dean was going after him. Jesus! Why was he just crouching there? He was a sitting duck for anything on the ridge with him.

It wasn't reassuring when Sam finally did stand. He looked like he could barely stay upright and he was just staring at the pile of boulders next to him. Dean tucked his gun in his pants and started to lift himself onto the first boulder. He couldn't wait anymore, he needed to get up there with his brother.

He stopped dead when Sam pulled his gun. It wasn't a nonchalant move. Sam looked like he was being threatened, like there was something in those boulders. But Dean couldn't see anything there but shadows. And then he saw it, a lucky trick of the moonlight let him see that the shadows were moving. Dean jerked his gun out and held it extended in front of him, supporting and steadying his right arm with his left as he sighted up the barrel. Account for distance, account for the upward angle, the movement…

But Sam was swaying, moving in and out of the line of his shot. Why didn't Sam have his gun up? Dean's heart was hammering in his chest and he started to scream his brother's name, tried to get through to him.

"SAM! GET DOWN! DROP SAM! SAMMY GET DOWN!"

Dean could see the shadow bunching in on itself, gathering itself, and the edges of panic began to hammer at him. He couldn't get a shot off… Oh God Sammy, shoot him! Do it Sam!

"SAAAAM!!!"

Sam jerked the gun up and the shot echoed down the slope at the same time the creature launched itself forward. For just a split second Dean let insane hope fill him. But then he saw the massive swipe, saw his brother flung through the air, and he was screaming and cursing as he sent a volley of shots up the slope at the black shape that was just too quick, that had already melted out of sight, away from the edge.

Dean was numb as he started to scramble up the boulders, taking one of the quicker routes. He forced himself to be numb, because if he let himself feel he wouldn't be able to move. And Sammy needed him. So he concentrated on the shock of seeing the creature that they were tracking. Not a mountain lion. It was a panther. A black panther.

He moved from rock to rock on automatic pilot. A panther. No one had ever reported actually seeing the mountain lion. It was just assumed. Weren't there tracks where the horses were attacked? What kind of idiot experts did they bring in? Things might have been different if they'd known. He ran the thoughts around and around in his brain. Because without the distraction his mind would be replaying the video loop over and over. Sam getting hit by that massive paw…those claws…flying through the air like a rag doll. Nope. Anger at incompetent wildlife experts was a hell of a lot better than the despair that would take its place.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**A/N**: I'm sorry to leave you with a moderate cliffie. I toyed with the idea of including the next set of scenes in this chapter, but quite frankly I've got drill with the fire co tonight and things to do before that. I'll try to update again soon, even if it's a little mini chapter to get you past the 'cliffhanger' point.

I will not be providing detailed explanations of the firefighting terms or procedures within the story, because quite frankly I'm sure the great majority of readers would be bored to tears. If anyone would like more info about the superb job done my Incident Management Teams and wildland firefighters please just drop me a line.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N**: Navajo legend and lore will be woven much more liberally into the story starting with this chapter. I have remained as true to the lore as possible, only rarely making a slight adjustment for the sake of the story. Ironically, the parts that you are most likely to think I 'tweaked', are the parts that are actually truest to the lore I have researched.

My information comes from research and I apologize in advance for any errors. I mean no disrespect. I would like to emphasize once again that the type of witchcraft practiced by skinwalkers is an abomination to the _Diné_ who live according to the Navajo Way.

Translations will be placed at the end of the chapter.

**Disclaimer**: If they were mine I wouldn't be sitting here just writing about them.

From Chapter 6:

_Dean was numb as he started to scramble up the boulders, taking one of the quicker routes. He forced himself to be numb, because if he let himself feel he wouldn't be able to move. And Sammy needed him. So he concentrated on the shock of seeing the creature that they were tracking. Not a mountain lion. It was a panther. A black panther._

_He moved from rock to rock on automatic pilot. A panther. No one had ever reported actually seeing the mountain lion. It was just assumed. Weren't there tracks where the horses were attacked? What kind of idiot experts did they bring in? Things might have been different if they'd known. He ran the thoughts around and around in his brain. Because without the distraction his mind would be replaying the video loop over and over. Sam getting hit by that massive paw…those claws…flying through the air like a rag doll. Nope. Anger at incompetent wildlife experts was a hell of a lot better than the despair that would take its place._

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**Hozho Chapter 7**

Black paws padded softly around low bushes and trees. The boy was easy for him to find. Even if he hadn't seen the direction he had tumbled down the slope, he remembered the boy's scent from the last time they met. The rich and heavy smell of his blood was even more of a beacon than the radiant glow surrounding the crumpled form. He was lying on his side, entangled in the soft branches of the bush that had ended his slide.

A large black head lowered and nudged the boy's shoulder, rolling him as far onto his back as the bush would allow. There was blood on the side of his head, smeared across his temple and cheek. His side was dark with blood, the shredded shirt sodden. The panther moved his gaze to the hunter's face. His eyes were closed, muscles slack. Soft breaths puffed in and out between slightly parted lips. Satisfied, the panther backed up, stopping several feet away. He dropped his head and let the change sweep over him.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Dean slowed down as he neared the top and pulled the gun from his waistband. He reined in an intense desire to just rush to the ridge and find his brother. He would be of no help to Sam if he got himself ambushed.

In the back of his mind he prayed the skinwalker would attack him. He prayed he would have a chance to put a bullet into the creature's heart.

After what seemed like an eternity he cautiously pulled himself onto the top. The ridge was nothing more than a narrow and dusty outcropping with a pile of boulders on one side. It was empty except for Sam's backpack.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Bare feet halted on the dry leaves next to the fallen hunter. A large man crouched down and gently pulled the hunter free from the bush that cushioned him. The man stood easily, cradling the younger man in his arms. He looked reluctantly at the spot where he had left the glossy black pelt carefully folded and hidden at the base of a tree. He would return for it as soon as he secured the unconscious man in his arms.

He was surefooted as he moved silently down the slope, eventually emerging out of the trees onto land that had been cleared by the fire crews. The old fire road welcomed him with a steady surface and the music of the water gurgling along next to it. He moved swiftly over the mile that separated him from his truck. It was parked in a small clearing next to the Run, nestled between Rockytop and Brown Mountain. The white sides of the truck were sooty and dark, painted by the ash that he had disturbed driving through the area that had burned the day before. He was thankful to the fire crews who had taken down the barriers that used to block the abandoned fire road from the county routes outside of the park. They gave him access to the area with the truck through an unauthorized back door.

He laid the young man on the ground before opening the back of the truck. Duct tape was easy to find in one of the boxes and he wrapped it quickly around Sam's wrists before running his hands over the lax body. His search was rewarded with a wicked looking knife in a sheath and a cell phone. An ankle holster held an additional gun and a folding knife. There was little danger that the young man would awaken soon and pose a threat, but the large man was unwilling to take a chance. The effects of the powder had been obvious when they were on the ridge, and yet the young hunter had been able to lift his gun, an act the witch had thought impossible. The bullet had left a stripe of blood from the big man's left hip to his shoulder, attesting to the hunter's strength. He had not been bloodied since leaving the land of his people. He was torn between anger and admiration for the hunter.

He lifted Sam and unceremoniously dumped him onto a blanket he had placed on the backseat of the truck. The truck had long ago been converted to accommodate his special needs. A framed chicken wire panel could be mounted isolating the back seat from the front, and the childproof locks on the back doors ensured the doors couldn't be opened from the inside. Not a one hundred percent secure arrangement, but effective enough.

He grabbed a pair of old and worn jeans from the truck bed and pulled them on before closing up the back of the truck and beginning to retrace his steps. _Shilah-moasi _called to him, and he ran swiftly over the dusty ground.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

"Sam!" Dean moved sideways across the slope, crossing back and forth in search of any sign of his brother. Loose stones and dirt slid out from under his feet, threatening to land him on his butt. Again. Or his hip. Or his knee. They had all taken hits since he started his search. The top of the slope was open—rocky dirt broken by an occasional bush. Farther down the trees and bushes became more numerous and packed more tightly together. The moonlight didn't make it to this side of the slope and the area was in deep shadow. Dean wanted to find some sign, any sign, of Sam, before he reached the trees and the search became more difficult.

A flash of silver sparked under the flashlight beam and Dean swung the light back to find the spot again. There. He dropped to his knees next to it. Sam's gun, the engraved chrome shining despite the dust that coated it. Dean held it tightly for a second before slipping it into his pocket and climbing to his feet. He pointed the flashlight down the slope from that point, swinging it back and forth in an arc as he moved towards the brush. "Sam!"

The signs of Sam's movement down the hill jumped out at him now that he knew where to look. Areas of brushed dirt where he must have slid, broken weeds and small rocks knocked askew. Toughest to examine dispassionately were the traces of blood. He reached out a finger as if to touch one spot but drew his hand back and closed it into a fist instead. Dean picked up speed as he moved lower, skidding to a stop in front of a long low bush that lay directly in the path of Sam's descent.

The front of the bush was pushed in where Sam must have landed against it. But his little brother wasn't there anymore. Blood coated some of the leaves and there was a dark patch where it had soaked into the ground. "Sam?" Dean called again, shining the flashlight over the area. There had to be something to show that Sam had gotten up, moved away, hell, he'd settle for crawled away if it meant his brother was near…and able to move at all.

His stomach dropped at the things the light did reveal. The dirt was so dry that its top layer was almost like sand. And the sand held large paw prints, occasionally overlain by a man's bare footprint. Definitely not Sam's footprint. A faint trail that showed both human and animal prints moved away from the bush and Dean followed the trail with the flashlight beam. His eyes locked on a pile of leaves under a tree about ten feet away and his face hardened. Something had been carefully covered with those leaves. Something large and unmoving. Dean tried to swallow past a dry throat as he edges towards the leaves, his feet dragging. He dropped to his knees next to them and hesitated with his hand over the pile for just a second, steeling himself to handle whatever he found.

He gently brushed leaves from the top of the mound and let his breath out in a rush as his hand skimmed over smooth black fur. He pulled the pelt free of the pile and examined it with the flashlight, biting back anger at the sight of blood on the right front claws. He certainly wasn't leaving it for the bastard to reclaim. It was heavier than he expected when he stood with it draped over his shoulder.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The witch heard the second hunter before he got close enough to see him. He was calling for 'Sam', his voice hoarse with the strain of his loss. The large man cursed to himself. Once again he had underestimated his prey. He did not think the other _biligaana_ would make it over the ridge and find the correct spot so quickly. He would have to wait until the hunter moved out of sight and then retrieve _Shilah-moasi_.

He edged through the trees, silent and unseen, inexorably drawn to the pelt that represented his physical connection with his cat brother. He halted in the shadows when he was close enough to see the spot where he had left the pelt, but was still beyond the range of the hunter's senses. Anger filled him at the sight of the hunter with his hands on the pelt. The _biligaana_ would pay for the desecration.

The witch melted backwards into the dark. The skin he wore now was his weakest and the hunter had already proven his prowess with the gun clutched in his hand. He and this hunter would meet again, of this he was certain.

He turned and moved away, the night embracing him as he ran.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Dean returned to the bush marked by Sam's blood. There was another line of footprints, moving away from it and headed down the slope. The prints were more distinct than the first set, pushed harder into the loose dirt. Whoever made them was carrying something heavy. Like an overly large little brother. Dean rubbed his eyes with his left hand and then ran it back through his hair until it was clutching the back of his neck as he stared down at the tracks. This just could not be happening. God knew how badly Sammy was injured. Dean squared his shoulders and began to follow the tracks.

The heavy pelt did its best to slow Dean down as he moved through the woods and towards the fire road at the bottom of the slope. He could move more quickly without it, but he knew instinctively that if the skinwalker had his brother, then Dean needed to hold on to something that was important to the skinwalker.

He picked up his pace to a jog when he reached the fire road. The sound of a heavy diesel engine filtered down the canyon towards him and he broke into a full out run. The sound was too far away, there was no way he would get there in time. Still he pushed himself for more speed. He wasn't giving up on his brother, and his feet pounded over the packed dirt. The air in this part of the valley was tinged with smoke, a pungency that clung to all of the surfaces around him. He could taste it in the back of his throat as he gulped air into his straining lungs.

Even after the sound of the engine faded into the distance he didn't ease his pace. Not until he came upon a new set of tire tracks, tracks that didn't come from a brushfire truck. Dean slumped against a tree and hung his head in exhaustion, letting the pelt slide off of his shoulder. His eyes fixed on a small patch of ground near the tire tracks, a patch that was darker than the dirt around it. He knew without shining the light on it that it would be blood.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The morning light spilled into the motel room through the uncovered window. Dean had flung the drapes open an hour ago, welcoming the light, letting it push back the shadows that filled the room. He sat on the edge of the bed, one hand rubbing his forehead while the other held his cell phone tight to his ear.

"Immobilization powder? Dad didn't mention it in the journal. I went to the spot where Sammy started to lose it and the powder was all over the top of some of the boulders. I scraped some into a bag—"

"_You didn't touch it, did you?"_

"No," Dean said wearily. "But I could see Sam's handprint in it. Jim, I told Sam to go up that way. If he hadn't…"

"_Dean, blaming yourself won't help your brother. If that's the way you sent him then I have no doubt it looked like the safest way. Are you hearing me? There is not a doubt in my mind that everything you did, you did with an eye to his safety. You've done that since he was a baby."_

"Yeah, I've been doing a real bang up job lately," Dean muttered. Anger crept into his voice as he continued. "I should have gotten his ass to a hospital after the bite. I could see there was something going on with him and I just ignored it. We had a fight…" he trailed off with a heavy sigh. "I screwed up."

"_Slow down a minute, son. What do you mean there was something going on with him? What kind of symptoms was he exhibiting?"_

"Tired, headache, achy, nervous, cranky, and he kept zoning out on me. I don't know if there was anything else, he wasn't exactly in a sharing mood. That's just the stuff I noticed."

The priest was silent for a minute. His voice was quiet and thoughtful when he came back on the line. _"Dean, I need you to think about something for me. Dealings with skinwalkers are usually kept private within the Diné, the Navajo. But there have been a few times over the past fifty years that outsiders were brought in. Hunters. Your Dad was the most recent that I know of. A witch as skilled as you've described, an ex university professor, certainly knows about hunters. Is there any way this creature could have known about you and Sam?"_

Dean thought about their encounters and came to the obvious conclusion. "Yeah. Definitely."

Jim sighed. _"When someone hurts or kills a member of the yee nadlooshii__ the remaining members of the clan sometimes seek revenge, either against the individual who hurt them, or against their clans. They consider all hunters part of the same clan. I believe this Betzgai fellow began hunting you from the moment he realized what you are. I even think he drew you to Virginia. I've never heard of one taking it as far as he has, but I've also never heard of a skinwalker so far from the sacred mountains. Dean, it wouldn't have mattered if you'd given up the hunt as soon as Sam got hurt. He would have followed you."_

Dean pushed himself off of the bed and began pacing the room. "There's nothing in Dad's journal about vendettas. We talked to other people, did the research…nothing. If we'd known we might have handled it differently. Instead we just walked right into it!" he said sharply.

"_I'm sorry Dean,"_ Pastor Jim said quietly. _"It's as much my fault as anyone else's. I've been gathering information about skinwalkers since before your Dad's hunt. I've got access to sources that others don't. If I'd shared it with more people you wouldn't have had to go into this blind because I was on retreat."_

Jim's voice was heavy with regret and sadness. It brought Dean to a halt in the middle of the room and he felt the anger, the need to blame someone, melt away. Jim loved Sammy, even though they rarely saw each other. They had spent a lot of time with the priest when they were growing up. He was one of the only people Dean remembered from his childhood who had freely showered them with affection. Dean had accepted it with quiet reserve, but Sam…Sammy had just glowed when exposed to his favorite uncle's kindness. "You didn't know something like this would happen," he forced out through a throat that wanted to close up on him. "Like you said, Betzgai is off the curve."

"_Those symptoms of Sams's—this might sound a little archaic, but I think your brother is being witched. Did Betzgai have access to your hotel?"_

"I don't see how. Not that quickly, anyway. Sam started acting funny as soon as we got into the room. It might even have started in the car."

"_The car."_ Jim said it as though Dean should know what he was talking about. And suddenly Dean did.

"The car is the closest thing we have to a home. And he could have gotten to it on his way out of the campground." Dean headed to the door.

"_Wear gloves Dean,"_ Jim advised.

It only took a couple of minutes of searching. A small leather bundle was duct taped under the car's front bumper. Dean brought it into the room and laid it down on top of an open newspaper on the table. He hit the button to put his cell phone on speaker and placed it on the table next to him.

"Okay, I got it," he said. Dean unwound the thin leather thong securing the bundle and then unrolled the leather, revealing the items hidden in its center. His eyes were drawn to a small piece of material sitting on the leather and he grimaced when he realized what it was. The swatch that had been torn from Sam's hiking shirt during his fight with the wolf was covered with his brother's dried blood. Small shards of bone and dried leaves, bits of ash and sand, scraps of ribbon and shell…Dean described it all to the priest, using a pencil to move things around.

"_I'm familiar with some of the basic items, but the others…I'm going to have to make some phone calls. We're going to need help to reverse the witching,"_ Jim told him. _"I may have to send you to meet someone who can provide you with items you'll need at your end."_

"What happens if we can't reverse it?" Dean wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

"_In the immediate future the witching will keep Sam tired, feeling ill, there could be some confusion. He won't be able to do much to fight Betzgai or to get away from him. The confusion is probably why Sam didn't notice the powder on the rock. The longer it stays in affect, the weaker he will get. If it was never reversed it could eventually kill him. But we're not going to let it get that far,"_ Jim said with confidence. He waited a beat for Dean to reply and sighed when none was forthcoming. _"Dean, I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but this bundle could be a good thing. There are hataali, Navajo singers that I have worked with before, who are powerful in their own right. They might be able to take it farther than just reversing the witching on Sam. They might be able to turn it back on Betzgai."_

Dean allowed a small spark of hope to kindle at that news. The skinwalker had been ahead of them every step of the way so far. Maybe now they would be able to level the playing field.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

It was the sound that began to pull Sam out of the darkness. Lilting, fluttering through his mind, he heard it calling each time he rose toward the surface, felt its mournful caress as he slipped back under, not ready yet.

His other senses came back slowly. He felt a little more, sensed a little more of the light pressing against his eyelids, each time. Remembered a little more about what had happened. With awareness came the pain. The old remembered pain stinging and pulling in his arm. New pain that took his breath away. Bruises and scrapes from his trip down the hill…throbbing in his back and shoulder…a steel band wrapped around his head that tightened and loosened in time with his pulse…none could compare to the hot pokers laying stripes across his side. He groaned and his world exploded in a white inferno that started at his side and reached into his skull. He retreated back into the dark to escape it.

Time meant nothing. It could have been five minutes or five days. He followed the music, the sounds of gentle breezes, a coyote's song. It wrapped around him and he floated, letting it carry him along. There was less pain this time, the warmth of the air around him cocooned him, he concentrated on the comfort of that feeling and let the magical music relax him.

He became aware that he was sitting slumped against some type of pole, his arms in back of him. His wrists were held together, bound by something that was tight enough to aggravate the injuries to his right hand and arm. Dust tickled his nose and he smelled musty hay. His head was hanging forward, his chin resting on his chest. He was careful not to move or open his eyes as he tried to figure out his surroundings. The haunting strains still wove around him, tumbling water that melted into a hawk's cry, liquid and lyrical. It ended on a soft breath of air and there was silence for several moments.

"_Yah-tah-hey._" The voice was deep and rough, but not unpleasant as it gave the simple greeting. "Would you like something to drink? You must be thirsty after your long sleep."

It was harder than Sam expected to open his eyes. His right eye, especially, almost seemed to be glued shut, the top and bottom lashes sticking together when he finally forced it open. He blinked several times, trying to focus on his lap. Dark blue pants swam in and out of focus, small bits of straw clinging to them. A pair of scuffed workboots slid into view next to his leg and Sam jerked his head back in surprise. He hadn't even heard their approach. The sudden movement sent the world spinning around him and he clamped his eyes shut, swallowing down the bile that rose in his throat.

A hand gently gripped his chin and lifted his head. He fought to hold back a groan as pain lanced through his skull. A cool, damp cloth wiped softly over the side of his face and his right eye. He hissed when it passed over a tender spot above his right ear. Great. Another head injury. Dean was going to make him start wearing a helmet.

Dean. Where was his brother?

The pain in his head receded into the background and he blinked his eyes open again. Deep brown eyes looked steadily back at him. The man's nose was narrow and straight, his cheeks broad and flat, square jawed, thin lips turned up in a small smile. His hair was cut short, black with sprinkles of gray at the temples. His skin was a deep tan that was more indicative of heritage than sunshine. He gave the impression of being a big man, with a broad chest and shoulders, though it was tough to tell in their current positions. Despite the heat he wore a long sleeve button down shirt and blue jeans. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up to the elbows, revealing a clean white bandage on his muscular right forearm. Even without having seen a picture, Sam figured it was a pretty safe bet that this was Wilson Betzgai.

The big man was crouched next to him, a blood stained rag held loosely in his right hand. He brought the rag forward and wiped the last bit of blood from Sam's right cheek before sitting back slightly on his heels.

"Who… Why…" Sam's voice was a low croak and he coughed as he tried to clear his throat.

Betzgai reached down next to him and lifted a bottle of water into view, twisting the cap off. He held the bottle to Sam's lips and tilted it so that Sam could drink. The water was only lukewarm, but it was still soothing on his parched throat.

The man looked at him quizzically, with his head turned slightly to the side, but he didn't say anything as Sam drank. He recapped the bottle when he judged that Sam had had enough and stood up. Sam's first impression was correct, the man was easily as tall as the young hunter, if not taller, with long legs and a muscular barrel chest. He moved with the grace of a predator. Actually, the way he moved reminded Sam of his brother.

Sam looked around, moving his head as little as possible to avoid taking another ride on the carousel. He was in an old barn that appeared to have been abandoned some time ago if the state of disrepair was any indication. His back was resting against a support beam in the back half of the barn, and old and dusty hay was spread out on the ground under him. Dust motes floated lazily in shafts of sunlight admitted by gaps between the boards on the walls. The white pickup was sitting in the barn with them, parked in front of the closed barn doors.

"Where am I?" His voice was a soft rasp.

"Someplace secure." Betzgai seemed to have lost interest in him. Reaching down he picked up a wooden flute sitting on top of a hay bale. He settled himself on the hay, leaning back against other bales piled up in back of him. He brought the flute to his lips and began to play softly, closing his eyes as the music came to life. It was a beautiful instrument, polished cedar with inlaid turquoise and a sound that was crystal clear and haunting. This was obviously the music that had drawn Sam back to the land of the living.

It was warm in the barn, the angle of the sun coming in through the slats gave the impression it was at least late morning, if not afternoon. Sam leaned his head back against the pole, his eyes scanning the barn as he looked for something, anything, that could help him. He bunched the muscles in his arms, pulling to test the bonds securing him to the pole. It felt like a wide tape, probably duct tape. He tried to bend his arms so that he could rub his wrists against the rough wood of the pole, but pain lanced through the lacerations in his side, making his head swim.

Sam fought to keep his eyes open. He was tired and still struggling with the cloud that had filled his mind for the past two days. God, he just wanted to know that Dean was okay. He couldn't ask, couldn't hand his worry to Betzgai to use as a weapon.

The music fell to a whisper and then died out completely. Betzgai slowly lowered the flute as his eyes opened and fixed on Sam.

"Why have you been hunting me?" The question was asked in a reasonable, curious tone.

"I don't know—"

"Do not pretend ignorance, Samuel. That would be an insult to both of us. I know your _din-neh-ih_, your clan. You and your companion are hunters. Did the restaurant woman summon you?"

Sam felt as though his breath had been punched out of him at the word 'hunters'. It explained a lot if this man knew what they were. "The restaurant woman…you mean in Harpers Ferry? Susan Macy?"

Betzgai shrugged indifferently. "Was that her name?"

There was no holding back the grimace of anger that crossed Sam's face. He remembered the bulletin board overflowing with mementoes of the lives she had touched, the grief of the people left behind. And this bastard couldn't be bothered with knowing her name before he killed her.

It was as though the skinwalker read Sam's mind when he continued talking. "Her name was unimportant. She should have stayed out of my business." His tone was not angry. It was disturbingly matter of fact. "Hikers on the Trail were starting to pass her gossip along. They were writing it in the log books so everyone could see it. She wanted to involve outsiders in my business. She had no right to interfere with me." He gave a little shrug. "I'm sure you understand that. But you haven't answered. Did she summon you? Will there be other hunters?"

Sam was torn, unsure which answer would give him the greatest chance of survival. Was Betzgai more or less likely to keep him alive if he believed there were other hunters on his trail?

But answering 'yes' would imply that Susan's information had been organized, available to more people. It would put Chrissie and everyone involved with the restaurant in danger. He couldn't take that chance.

"She didn't call us. We figured out the pattern on our own. Other hunters will too."

Betzgai smiled. A chill ran down Sam's spine at the sight. Even though his lips were curved in a grin, there was no emotion on the witch's face. It wasn't that the grin covered other emotions, it was as though the grin was a mask over an empty husk, devoid of _any_ emotion. "I do not share the hatred for your clan that lives in many of the _yee naaldlooshii_. I do not seek out hunters to destroy them. But I am also not afraid of them."

Sam was trying hard to learn what he could about their opponent, but he was just so tired…and hurting…God he wished Dean would just come bursting through the door. He let his head fall back against the pole and his eyes slid shut. "What about all of the other people you've hurt?" he asked wearily, "Did they threaten you too?" He heard the heavy footsteps crossing the ground towards him and then a large hand had an iron grip on his jaw. Jerking his head backwards only resulted in the grip tightening until he felt like his jawbone was about to crack. He opened his eyes, trying to see past the tears of pain that filled them. Betzgai was leaning over him, a look of impatience on his face.

"Understand something, boy. That woman was never a threat to me. She was an inconvenience." As suddenly as he had grabbed it, Betzgai let go of Sam's jaw and straightened up. A small smile flitted across his face. "As for the rest, a few had something of value that I wished to claim." He turned his back and began to walk away, speaking nonchalantly over his shoulder. "And the others were nothing. Sport. A bit of extra cash when I wanted it." He gave a little shrug, completely discounting the worth of any of those lives.

Sam moved his jaw back and forth. It hurt like hell where it had been grabbed, but he didn't think anything was broken. He just couldn't get a handle on this guy. God, wendigos were so much easier. All that mindless 'eat-kill-destroy' crap was pretty easy to figure out. But humans…Dean was right. Humans were scarier. And the quicker he could figure this one out, the better his chance of living through this would be. He might even be able to increase his odds from 'not a chance in hell' all the way up to 'one in a million'.

In the back of his mind a little voice was telling him not to push his luck. He never did like those little voices. "What about your uncle, Hosteen Ben? Which was he, sport or extra cash?"

The muscles across Betzgai's shoulders tensed, drawing upward. It only lasted for a second and then they relaxed and the big man turned slowly to face him. His face bore a look of mild regret. "You are _biligaana_, you do not understand the _Diné_ way. Among the _Diné_ there is a great duty to your family, your clan. There is no place for selfishness. My uncle was a selfish man. He had great wealth while others in his clan had little. He refused to give when others requested what was theirs by right, as members of the clan. His selfishness was destroying the harmony of the clan."

"You mean _you_ asked him for something and he said no. So you killed him." Okay, that put it in the 'extra cash' category. Not to mention acing the 'earning my skinwalker stripes' bonus round.

"It was necessary to restore the harmony, the _hozho_. It was my right and my duty." He sighed heavily. "I don't know if I can ever forgive him for forcing me to take that action."

Oh, he so didn't like the picture he was starting to get of this guy. What the hell, might as well go for the million dollar question. "Why haven't you killed me?"

"You intrigue me." The way the big man was looking at him was probably the way he had looked at an interesting artifact when he was at the university. He tilted his head to the side again, studying Sam through narrowed eyes for a moment before straightening his head and giving it a little shake as though he could not see something he was looking for. It gave Sam the creeps. "You should be grateful to me. Perhaps you don't realize that without my assistance you might have bled to death. It would have been my right to let you, after you raised a gun against me."

For the first time Sam realized that material was wrapped securely around his ribs, holding a large bandage tight against his side. Blood loss would explain how rotten he felt beyond the obvious injuries. At least partially explain it, anyway. He still didn't get it, though. "So why didn't you let me die? What do you want from me?"

"Right now you will be helpful in retrieving something that belongs to me. Your companion is a thief." The flash of anger on the skinwalker's face and in his voice was the first solid emotion that Sam saw the witch exhibit. Relief rushed through him in a wave and his breath hitched for a moment. Dean was alive and well and pissing this guy off royally. Kind of a Dean specialty. Sam hung his head and fought to hold in a smile. Just knowing his brother was out there calmed him, centered him. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as Betzgai reached down and picked something up from the hay bale where he had been sitting. His head snapped up when he realized what it was.

"I believe I heard you call him 'Dean'. Is there more than one 'Dean' in your contacts?" He held up Sam's cell phone and returned to stand next to him. "Let's see if he is a reasonable man." He pushed a button and then held the phone to his ear, crouching down so that Sam could also hear the conversation. Sam held his breath waiting to hear his brother's voice.

"_Sam?! Sammy?!"_ Dean's voice was hopeful, scared, hoarse, he sounded exhausted. It was one of the most beautiful things Sam had ever heard.

"Is this Dean?" Betzgai sounded like he was calling a business acquaintance, his voice pleasant but impersonal.

"_Who is this?"_ Sam cringed at the suspicious weariness in Dean's voice.

"Samuel is my guest, Dean. We have been having a pleasant visit. He really is a special young man." Betzgai was downright charming.

"_Listen you bastard! If you hurt my brother I swear to God I will hunt you down and rip you apart!"_ Charming was definitely not the word Sam would have used to describe his brother's tone.

Betzgai looked at Sam with his eyebrows raised. "Your brother? How rude of Samuel to not tell me you are brothers. Brother hunters. Interesting." He was doing that 'cocked head' thing again. Sam was starting to feel like a new species of animal being observed in the zoo. "I'm sure you would like to protect your brother from any harm. His welfare is in your hands. You have something that belongs to me, I would like it back."

Dean's harsh breathing slowed down, became quieter. _That's right Dean, calm it down. Figure out how you're going to smoke this bastard._

"_I don't know. I was kinda thinking it might look nice as a rug in front of the fireplace. Or maybe __**in**__ the fireplace."_

Sam tried to concentrate, tried to gauge the witch's reaction to Dean's taunt, and the very real threat it contained. Dean was getting to him if the clenching jaw was any indication.

"_I'll bet a black panther would be pretty tough to replace, huh?"_

A quick hiss of anger was the only warning Sam got before Betzgai's large hand shot out, clamping around his throat. It squeezed slowly and Sam struggled to pull away, his feet scrabbling against the dirt floor. The pole at his back held him in place and spots began to dance in front of his eyes as his air was slowly cut off. He could hear a wheezing gagging through the rushing wind in his ears and a small part of his brain knew it was him making the noise. Betzgai leaned in closer to Sam's ear with the phone as he spoke. "Easier to replace than a brother, I would think."

Dean was yelling, cursing, on the other end of the phone, but Sam couldn't make it out as the world began to turn gray around him. _I'm sorry Dean. Not your fault. I'm so sorry._

As suddenly as the flame had been ignited, it was extinguished. Betzgai's features returned to a placid calm. The pressure on his throat eased slightly but it was too late to stop Sam's downward spiral into darkness.

He finally got it. The random attacks, the east coast location, the daytime transformations, all of the inconsistencies. As the world narrowed steadily down to a small point of light he finally got it. And it wasn't good. Wilson Betzgai the witch was a powerful skinwalker. Wilson Betzgai the man was, in every way, a classic psychopath.

The small point of light flickered and then went out.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**A/N**: If you have never listened to the music of the Native American flute, I highly recommend it. The music of R. Carlos Nakai is a wonderful place to start, especially his "Canyon Trilogy".

S_hilah _Navajo name meaning 'brother'. There is no literal translation of the word 'brother' itself.

_Moasi _cat

_biligaana_ – Caucasians, non-Navajo

_Diné_ 'The People', the Navajo people

_yee nadlooshii_ "beings that travel on four legs", Skinwalkers

_hataali_ Navajo religious singer, ceremonial singer, healer

_yah-tah-hey_ Navajo greeting

_din-neh-ih_ clan, family group

_hozho_ beauty, harmony, balance


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N**: Thank you again to everyone who is following the story, and to those of you who have been kind enough to comment on it. It truly means a lot. Especially to Dana and Jenilee, whose works of art have helped to bring the story to life for me, and to Brenna who got a sneak peek at this chapter and liked it more than I expected anyone to. I am so grateful to this fandom for the friends it has brought me.

In researching psychopathology I came to the conclusion that Dean is right. People can be scarier than the supernatural. I hope you enjoy this somewhat shorter chapter. It sets the stage for things to…'heat up'.

**Disclaimer**: see chaps 1-7. Nothing's changed.

**From chapter 7**:

_He finally got it. The random attacks, the east coast location, the daytime transformations, all of the inconsistencies. As the world narrowed steadily down to a small point of light he finally got it. And it wasn't good. Wilson Betzgai the witch was a powerful skinwalker. Wilson Betzgai the man was, in every way, a classic psychopath._

_The small point of light flickered and then went out._

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**Hozho Chapter 8**

Dean's hands were shaking when he dropped the cell phone onto his lap. He bowed his head to rest his forehead against the top of the steering wheel, unknowingly mimicking his brother's actions of two nights before. Outside of the car traffic whizzed by in a steady blur, the wash of air from the occasional big rig making even the heavy Impala rock. He had swerved onto the shoulder as soon as he saw the name on his caller ID.

Exhaustion was a lead lined cloak weighing him down. It was more than being physically tired. Guilt and fear were eating him alive. Sammy had been hurt, had been taken away from him. And he had just stood by, unable to stop it. What if he couldn't get his brother back? What if their last real conversation was Dean telling Sam that he wanted Sam gone? The pain on Sam's face during that argument haunted Dean. No matter how this turned out he would always carry that memory with him. He had done that. He had put that look on his little brother's face, and now…

He was trying hard not to replay parts of that phone call over and over in his mind. There's definitely something wrong when you can recognize the sound of your brother being choked because it's something you've heard before. Several times. He was just trying to sound Betzgai out, get a feel for what they were dealing with. He didn't expect the reaction he got. Worse than the choking noise was the silence when it suddenly stopped. The silence that screamed that he might have just gotten his brother killed. Dean was pretty sure his own heart stopped at that point.

He lifted his head up and took a shaky breath. Nope, not going there. Sam was still alive, and this would end tonight. Betzgai had set a time for them to meet, and described the spot in the Big Run Canyon where they would find each other.

Dean looked down at the small box on the seat next to him. Small bags and pouches, all carefully labeled. Animal fats, corn meal, flower petals, shells. How the hell did they collect 'corn pollen' anyway? Pastor Jim hadn't wasted any time arranging a meeting between Dean and a man connected to one of the Virginia tribes. He'd actually done more than set up the meeting. The priest had given the man a list, making sure everything was ready for Dean when he got there. Gratis. Free of charge. The one necessary item that looked like it might be a problem was something belonging to Betzgai himself, something cherished and strongly tied to him. Had them stumped for all of five minutes. That was how long it took for Dean to think of the pelt.

Hopefully Jim's efforts were being as successful across the country and Dean would have some real backup against the skinwalker. The main action would be carried out by some powerful medicine men in Arizona. Dean was just a bit player in the 'witching' side of things, following their orders to help neutralize the bundle that had been hidden on the Impala. The h_ataali_ in Arizona would take it the rest of the way. Reverse the witching, turn it back on the skinwalker and knock him down a peg or two.

Dean had to believe they could stop the effects of the witching. It was the only way Sam was going to have any chance of being able to fight back. In retrospect, it was easy to see how badly the medicine bundle had affected his brother. If he'd been one hundred percent he would have avoided the immobilization powder, or noticed the effects sooner and come back down the scramble.

Gotta love hindsight in all its brutal twenty/twenty clarity. Dean had turned a blind eye to enough of Sam's little 'tells' to be sure now that he was only aware of the tip of the iceberg. Not likely Sam was gonna be forthcoming about aches and pains after Dean had just gotten done rubbing his face in the idea that Sam wasn't good enough, wasn't tough enough, wasn't dedicated enough. But Dean knew his brother. Knew what that hand kneading the back of his neck meant. The sudden narrowing of his eyes when he stood up quickly. The white knuckled grip on any nearby sturdy object when Sam had to stand for a little while. Damn it, he'd seen the signs without ever really noticing them.

Dean pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to rub the tiredness away. The Impala roared to throaty life when he turned the key and he eased back onto the road. Amateur hour was done. He would do his part to help the _hataali_, he would eat, he would sleep, he would plan, and he would get his brother back tonight.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

It felt a little like _Groundhog Day_. The nightmare version of the show, anyway. Once again he followed the strains of music back into the barn, but as the darkness receded this time he found things were a little different. He was no longer against the pole. He was laying back with his upper body supported by a pile of hay and his hands in front of him, his wrists bound together by a coarse rope. His head pounded with a new viciousness and his throat felt swollen and painful. Getting choked out will do that to you. Lethargy was a completely inadequate term to describe the bone deep weariness that held his body in place. He lay without moving for a few minutes, working to gather his scattered thoughts.

His tongue felt like it was glued to the roof of his mouth and he was beginning to fear that dehydration was turning into an issue. He needed liquids if his body was going to counter the blood loss. Most telling was the fact that by all rights his bladder should have been near bursting but there was no discomfort there. He lifted his arms, rubbing at his face with his bound hands for several seconds before opening his eyes. Right on cue the music ended.

"There is water and food next to you."

Sam glanced to the side and saw a bottle of water and a sandwich sitting on top of a piece of wax paper. He must have really been out of it for Betzgai to not only be able to move him but also have time to go out for food. There was a slight pulling around his mouth as though the skin there still bore the slight residue of tape. Betzgai must have taped it shut to make sure Sam couldn't yell for help while he was gone. He was kind of glad he had missed that part. He maneuvered himself into a more upright position, holding in a groan as hot pain lanced across his side.

"Do you have a home?" Betzgai was sitting on the Chevy's open tailgate. He didn't wait for Sam to answer before continuing in a quiet voice. "I don't know if you can understand what it is like to miss your home. I was a powerful and respected man there. Many came to me seeking my knowledge."

The first sips of water felt like they weren't going to make it down Sam's throat and he almost started to gag. He fought the urge and let the moisture slowly trickle down until he could safely swallow. It became a little easier with each sip after that. He lowered the bottle and his eyes followed the big man as he climbed off of the truck and began to slowly wander the barn, stopping to look at items he found with melancholy curiosity. "Why did you leave?" Sam tried to keep his tone respectful, hoping to connect with some part of the witch, maybe learn something helpful. His voice was papery thin and there were sharp twinges in his throat when he talked.

"Others were jealous of me. They feared me." He looked at Sam with a satisfied grin. "Do you know that the _Diné_ will not even speak the name _yee naaldlooshii_? They fear that if they even say the name 'skinwalker' they will be heard and draw my attention, or my brothers'." His grin faded away. "My brothers…none were as powerful as me, and even they grew jealous. I could not stay among them and so I left. I left _Dinétah_, the land of my ancestors." He looked at the ground and, for just a second, an expression of pure sadness drifted across his face. His expression cleared and he lifted a calm gaze back to Sam. "I left _Tséyi',_ a place of great power, I left my home in _Ch'íníli_…I left it all behind. But someday I will go back. My power grows, and someday all of my clan together will not be able to keep me from my home."

Betzgai settled himself back onto the tailgate, lost in thought as he ate his own sandwich. Sam had no appetite, but forced himself to eat anyway. He would probably need whatever little bit of energy the food could give him. Overcoming a lack of appetite was one thing. Overcoming a sore and swollen throat that felt like it would close up if irritated was something completely different. He pulled small pieces of soft bread and cheese from the sandwich and began to chew them carefully, washing them down with the water. Occasionally he would look up to find Betzgai watching him with an unreadable look.

Sam shoved the remains of his sandwich aside but kept the water close. He pushed himself until he was seated fully upright, hoping the new position would keep the exhaustion at bay and clear at least some of the cobwebs from his head. His entire body was stiff and sore from his little tumble down the hill. His left leg and shoulder seemed to have gotten the worst of it, but they were still functional. His head…okay, that was going to be a problem. The food and water had helped a little, bringing the pounding down to the jackhammer level. More alarming was the fact that spots floated across his vision every time he moved his head and his brain was hazy at best.

His side scared him. As long as he kept still it was happy to stay at a steady throb, only turning to liquid fire when he was stupid enough to move. He wasn't exactly a big fan of being in pain, but he could handle it and function as long as he needed to. Kind of a Winchester trademark. What scared him was that he was still bleeding. The bandage was wet. The exhaustion, the invisible lead weights making it so damn hard for him to move, could be from blood loss. The hard fact was that if it didn't stop, or if he aggravated the injury and the blood flow increased, he could end up in serious trouble.

Betzgai slid off of the tailgate and began walking slowly towards him and Sam decided that at that point, 'serious trouble' was kind of a relative term.

The big man gracefully lowered himself to the ground at Sam's side until he was sitting cross-legged just a foot away. Sam fought the urge to push himself backwards and returned the skinwalker's steady gaze instead. He couldn't help the slight flinch when the man's large hand reached up to grasp his chin. The touch was gentle this time as Betzgai turned Sam's head from side to side as if he was closely examining his features. The man reached out his free hand and brushed Sam's bangs back out of his eyes and off of his forehead. The movement caused a rush of vertigo in the young hunter, caused more by the surreal circumstances than any physical reason. Sam flashed back to vague memories of his brother making the same motions.

Betzgai began to talk quietly, almost as though he was calming a frightened child. "Among the _Diné_ there are stories of two brothers, Monster Slayer and Child Born for Water, who rid the earth of monsters so that the people could live in this world. They are important stories. The brothers are heroes to the _Diné_. They must pass many trials to win the acceptance of their father, the Sun. When he offers them treasures they say 'no' and ask only for the weapons and tools they will need to destroy the monsters." He paused and held Sam's head still so that their eyes were locked before he continued. "Their father gives them the things they need, but also tells them to be sure of what they are doing, because the monsters they sought to destroy were their brothers."

He released Sam's chin and sat back a little. "Do you know why I have not killed you?"

Sam just stared at him, not trusting himself to speak. His silence didn't deter Betzgai.

"The eyes of this form are weak." Betzgai waved a hand in front of him, indicating his own body. "But _Shilah-moasi_ and _Shila-ma'iitsoh_, when I am one with them, they can see it. So strong, so bright. You have power in you, boy. I've seen glimmers on others before, but none were as strong as you. It surrounds you with light." His hand sketched the air around Sam. "Consider yourself lucky that you are a hunter, boy, so I knew you would follow me." He grinned benignly. "If you were just a traveler on the trail I would have killed you in West Virginia to consume your power." He gave a deep laugh, shaking his head in a self-deprecating manner. "I admit the temptation was too strong when we met on the trail. I should thank your brother for stopping me when he did. It is much better this way."

His grin was wide, as though Sam should be sharing the joke that this man was having a tough time controlling his desire to kill Sam. Maybe he was being a little cranky, but Sam just didn't see the humor there.

Betzgai's words sank in and the air around Sam got thicker, making it difficult to breathe. His lungs didn't seem to want to work. Dean would just love this one. To find out his 'shining' was, at least to skinwalkers, an actual 'SHINING'… It was his fault they'd gone from hunters to hunted this time around.

Betzgai's face grew thoughtful. "Yes, I should thank your brother. Such power… I thought you might be the key." He lips curved into a small smile. "But I realize now that I was only half right. You and your brother are two halves to the whole. You are _Naayéé' Neizghání_ and _Tó Bájísh Chíní,_ Monster Slayer and Child Born for Water. Your power together is so much greater than either of you alone." He looked past Sam, somewhere into the distance beyond the walls of the barn where they sat. "The _Dinétah_ has been calling to me. And I understand now. After I have claimed the power of the brothers, **both** brothers, no one will be able to stop my return home."

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Dean looked at the topo map spread out on the bed for about the thousandth time, memorizing the nooks and crannies of the Big Run valley. He had made a little detour on his way back to the motel after the phone call from Betzgai, stopping at Loft wayside and making a scouting trip back into the valley.

He'd picked up food and two important pieces of information at the wayside. The first was that the fire crews were spending the day working frantically to strengthen the fire lines around the outside of the valley because a forecasted 'wind event' the next day had the potential to turn the fire into an out of control inferno. The second was that Betzgai had, once again, made complete fools out of them. He might have seen the scanner, might not. It didn't matter.

Betzgai had known they'd hear of the attack and head right to the mouth of the valley to either intercept him or track him. Search crews had found no signs of an animal attack near the campground. The trail he and Sam had followed the night before started close to the Doyle parking lot, the only parking lot where the boys could safely leave the Impala and have access to the Big Run. They'd walked right into a friggin cat and mouse game where the cat had a PhD and the brain trust on their side was muddled by witching.

Dean hadn't been witched. What was his excuse for letting his brother get snatched?

He'd clamped down on his anger and frustration and channeled the strength of those emotions into his efforts to get Sam back. The trails into the Big Run area were 'closed' because of the fire so he'd avoided the trailheads, instead parking at the campground and then hiking down the AT until he could slip over to the Big Run unseen. Once there, he'd made plans and prepared what he could.

By the time he got back to the room he was exhausted. He managed to shut his emotions down long enough to get a few hours of sleep. When he'd woken there had been a few moments when his brother was sprawled across the other bed, and he'd smiled, wondering if he could cajole Sam into McDonald's pancakes for breakfast. Before he remembered that the soft light coming around the edges of the drapes was the evening's fading sun, not a soft dawn. Before he turned and felt the pressure bloom in his chest when he saw that there was no little brother in the other bed. It was covered by maps and first aid supplies.

Dean pushed the topo map aside and willed his phone to ring. Everything was packed and ready to go, but he was stuck, sitting around waiting to play his part in the Navajo ceremony. He knew reversing the witching was an important part of helping Sam, but waiting was not exactly his strong suit.

When the call did come Dean had the phone open and to his ear so quickly he startled the caller. He didn't recognize the number, but it was an Arizona area code.

"Hello." The greeting was a snarl of impatience.

"_Dean Winchester?"_ Dean hadn't been thrilled when he learned that Jim would be giving the _hataali_ in Arizona their real names, but the priest had explained that true names had a power that would help the singers in their ceremony.

"Yeah." _Can we move this along? I've kinda got a few things to do tonight. Go for a walk, save a brother…_

"_You sound amazingly like a Virginia state policeman I spoke to a couple of days ago,"_ the man answered with a snort. _"Mr. Winchester, this is Nathan Betzgai. I'll be talking you through things from this end. Did you get everything on the list that I gave Father Jim?"_

Dean didn't miss a beat. Later he'd allow himself a chuckle over the Navajo Tribal policeman being his contact with the medicine men. Later. After he had Sammy back and he could chuckle again. "Got it. I'm ready to go."

"_Good. We have a few minutes, the hataali are preparing themselves."_ Nathan's voice lost its brisk businesslike tone. He sounded almost sad. _"I understand my cousin has your brother. I'm sorry that the disharmony of my family has caused you so much pain."_

Dean rubbed a hand over his eyes. He didn't want sympathy. He didn't need sympathy. Sam would be fine and this would just be an interesting new chapter in the journal. "Not your fault." Who's voice was that? Certainly not his, with that little emo catch in it.

"_There are things you should know about Wilson if you're going to face him. To help you understand what you're dealing with."_

"Okay." Dean's eyebrows drew together. Where was this going?

"_Wilson's parents died when he was young. He was raised by Uncle Ben. He began to have…'problems', when he was a teenager and the school insisted he be seen by a doctor. The doctor was good. Diagnosed Wilson with antisocial personality disorder."_

Dean shook his head. What a waste of time. "What, he's not a people person? Kinda figured that out."

Nathan's tone was patient. _"In laymen's terms, someone with a more severe case of APD is called a sociopath. Wilson was a more severe case."_

Okay, so there actually was some information he needed. Information that really, really sucked. "Did he start seeing a shrink?"

"_My uncle was a traditional man. He did what he thought was best."_

"So that would be a 'no'."

"_You have to understand that many doctors think there is no effective treatment. Who's to say the traditional methods weren't best in this case? My uncle arranged a 'sing' for Wilson. It actually seemed to work. The aggressiveness and behavior problems seemed to be over."_

"Good thing. Who knows how many people he might have killed without that help." Dean couldn't help the sarcasm dripping from his words. He knew Nathan was only trying to help, but his brother was out there somewhere with this lunatic and frustration was starting to eat a hole in Dean's stomach.

There was silence on the other end of the line for a second. Nathan didn't seem insulted when he continued talking, if anything he just sounded a little sadder. _"I always wondered if Wilson just learned to hide it better. But a definite result of the sing was that he became obsessed with the traditional ways, the legends, the history. Understand that my cousin is a brilliant man. He turned his obsession into scholarships. College, grad school. Eventually earned his professorship."_

The ghost of a smile touched Dean's lips. Sam would love this. Matching wits with this guy, figuring out how to use his weaknesses against him. Didn't matter how brainy Betzgai was, Sammy would've come up with a plan. They didn't make them any smarter than his brother. A pang went through Dean, so sharp it took his breath away.

"_He lost his spot at the university because he couldn't control the obsession any longer. He was aggressive about his beliefs, there were some violent incidents. He came to Uncle Ben for money. He would have gotten it, too, but Uncle Ben found out what it was for and turned him down. We discovered that he'd started dabbling with witchcraft right after that first sing. He'd been involved with it, training in it, for twenty years, and we never knew. That type of witchcraft is a perversion of the Navajo way Mr. Winchester. A perversion of our ceremonies and our beliefs. Killing Uncle Ben, the man who raised him, was the final step in his initiation. Wilson has no conscience, shows no remorse. He will not hesitate to kill your brother in front of you."_

"Obsessed, brilliant, and a freakin' homicidal nutjob," Dean muttered to himself, "You do like to make me earn my keep, don't you Sammy."

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Moonlight lay soft over the valley as Dean picked his way along the water's edge, looking for the landmark he had left in the afternoon. His backpack was heavy on his shoulders, the weight of needed supplies increased by the pelt bundled to the outside. He'd managed to carry a couple of things into the area during his daytime foray but he still felt woefully undersupplied.

The distinctive pile of rocks was right where he'd left it and Dean angled towards the side of Rockytop. The cave he had found was deep and would surround the boys with solid rock on three sides. The mouth was too wide for it to be easily defended, but it would do in a pinch. If Sam couldn't make it out of the valley that night they would hole up until morning.

Dean entered the cave and carefully lowered his backpack to the ground next to the items he'd left earlier, including a sleeping bag and Sam's stocked backpack. He would leave some items from his own pack behind in the cave. His pack and its remaining items would then be stashed in a different spot in the valley, in case they couldn't make it to the cave. He quickly sorted through the packed items, clamping down on the tension building in his gut. He forced himself to take his time, making sure he stuck with the division he'd figured out back in the motel room. He had the time to do it right, there were a couple of hours before he was supposed to meet with Betzgai.

He left the cave with a new steadiness. Stalking the supernatural, killing the supernatural, was familiar ground to him. As long as he could think about it in those terms he would have no problem with this. As long as he could keep his mind off of just how high the stakes were in this particular hunt.

His next stop was a wide ledge on the east side of Big Run. The ledge was a conspicuous slash across a sheer section of mountain. It was easily visible from the large flat drainage basin where Big Run and Rocky Mountain Run came together. The drainage basin was the spot where Dean was supposed to get his brother back in exchange for the pelt.

The ledge may have been easily visible, but that didn't make it easily accessible. A trail led up to it from Rocky Mountain Run, but Dean didn't want to take the time to hike into the side valley and then backtrack to the ledge. The only other option was to go straight up the rock face in front of him.

He was sweat soaked and panting by the time he reached the step in the mountainside, his leg muscles twitching from the strain of climbing up the nearly vertical expanse with the pelt and pack on his back. It was a hell of a lot easier in the afternoon with better visibility and no added weight. He preferred the harder version. The version that let him grunt and sweat and work his way to the top. That let him lose himself in the technical aspects of the climb instead of giving his mind time to wander into dark thoughts.

He lashed the pelt to the small tree he'd picked out earlier and arranged scavenged lengths of wood around its base. Dean retrieved a couple of cans from the pack and popped the tops off of them. You gotta love a well stocked campstore. The gel fuel from the cans matted the soft hair of the pelt down in wide swaths where he painted it on with a piece of wood. The last item he needed from the pack was a small bottle filled with gasoline. He liberally doused the wood piled under the pelt. Both the gasoline and the gel fuel would evaporate given enough time, but they would retain their potency at least until after his confrontation with the skinwalker.

It served his purposes to take the side trail off of the ledge instead of climbing back down. He wanted to come down on the Rocky Mountain Run side of the mountain. Plan B was to stash his pack in that side valley. If things were hairy after the confrontation they now had two ways out. If they weren't, then it would be easy enough to retrieve the pack.

It didn't take long to reach the spot where he was going to leave the pack and he looked at his watch before lowering himself to sit on a downed tree. He still had a little time before he had to get into position.

The main valley had been clear, but there was a slight haze of smoke in the side valley. It felt like the fire had been hovering over them for the past couple of days. It defied logic, but its presence didn't feel threatening to him. It was like some stronger force surrounding them, watching them and withholding judgment. And he was SO not gonna think about the religious implications of that.

He'd told Nathan a few of the details when they talked, looking for insight as to why his cousin seemed so drawn to the valley at the center of the fire. Nathan didn't seem surprised. Wilson could be asserting his strength by defying fire's power to cleanse evil.

Nathan's alternative theory was more chilling. Fire was an important part of most Navajo ceremonies. It was possible that Wilson's interest in them went beyond the skinwalker vendetta against hunters. That something about the brothers was triggering Wilson's obsession, and he saw their confrontations as ceremonial.

Damn he wished Sammy was with him preparing for this, chewing through the research and figuring it out. He'd have about ten theories by now.

It was strange to think that at that very moment a group of people he had never met were fighting for Sam on the other side of the country. Nathan had predicted that the sing would last for several hours after Dean's part was done. The hunter didn't know why he was sprinkling different substances to the four directions, or over the medicine bundle, but he was meticulous about carrying out Nathan's instructions. If it worked, Sammy would be released from the influence of the bundle. If it worked really really well it would go beyond that, and Betzgai himself would be reminded of the true power of the Navajo way and the _hataali_.

Dean recapped the bottle of water in his hand and slipped it back into the pack before pulling weapons out. An arsenal on his back would have been nice, but Betzgai had been clear about how quickly that would get his brother killed. It was a hell of a lot easier in the winter when their coats turned into weapons caches. It was tough to hide much under a T shirt. He stood up and wedged the backpack between two boulders near the water. It was getting down to the wire.

Dean squared his shoulders and took a deep breath before starting towards the position he had picked out. His movements were more graceful and stealthy than they had been just moments before. Barely visible tendrils of smoke eddied and swirled around him as he moved through the moonlight. The game was on.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**A/N**: I was amazed at the parallels between the story of the Winchester brothers and the legend of _Naayéé' Neizghání_ and _Tó Bájísh Chíní,_ Monster Slayer and Child Born for Water. If you have the opportunity, google them.

I will not repeat translations of words that I'm pretty sure you're getting tired of hearing, like Diné and yee nadlooshii .

_Tséyi' _Canyon de Chelly, located on Navajo tribal land in AZ, it is an area of great harmony and beauty, with great historical and spiritual significance in the Navajo culture.

_Ch'íníli _Chinle, AZ. "Where the water flows out", is just west of Canyon de Chelly

S_hilah _Navajo name meaning 'brother'. There is no literal translation of the word 'brother' itself.

_moasi _cat

_ma'iitsoh_ wolf

_hataali_ Navajo religious singer, ceremonial singer, healer


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N**: Thank you for sticking with the story and all of the kind comments. I have not been able to personally reply to some without addies, but know that I value each and every one of them.

I have assumed that people knew that a 'Run' is a stream, and then realized it might be a regional term. (Yeah, yeah, we all know what happens when you 'assume') In the context of this story 'Big Run' and 'Rocky Mountain Run' are both streams. Although at this point they are really, really shallow streams because of the drought.

**Disclaimer**: Still not mine, but check back with me December 26. They're on my list to Santa.

**From chapter 8**:

_Dean squared his shoulders and took a deep breath before starting towards the position he had picked out. His movements were more graceful and stealthy than they had been just moments before. Barely visible tendrils of smoke eddied and swirled around him as he moved through the moonlight. The game was on._

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**Hozho Chapter 9**

A tugging on his wrists brought Sam back to the barn. He moaned low in his throat and turned his head to the side, trying to burrow deeper into the hay. "Dean…dude…quit it…"

"We have to leave soon, Samuel. You need to prepare for out little journey."

The tugging continued on Sam's wrists and he forced his eyes open. They focused on the knife in front of him and he watched it for a moment in curiosity. His eyes widened when his brain clicked into gear and he tried to yank his hands out of the big man's grip. "It'll be much easier for you to wash if I free your hands," Betzgai explained patiently. With one final swipe of the knife the ropes on Sam's wrists parted. Betzgai slid his hand under Sam's back and gently helped him to sit up. Vertigo hit as soon as he was upright and the entire barn began a slow waltz. It only lasted for a moment before things settled back into their normal, non-dancing, positions.

He felt a hell of a lot better than he did before he fell asleep. 'Fell asleep' being a euphemism for the true term, 'passed out'. Sam's memories of the time period before that were vague at best. The last thing he remembered clearly was Betzgai's revelation that he thought the hunters were the wonder duo out of legend. Things got pretty hazy after that. He had some flashes of feeling exhaustion so complete that it was an effort to breathe, feeling achy and dizzy, a headache that took away his ability to think… Sam shuddered when the rest came back to him. Betzgai had changed the bandage on his side and checked the wound. The experience made Sam appreciate the care his brother took to be gentle. Betzgai's ministrations were anything but, and the fiery burn in Sam's side had pushed him over the edge into darkness.

He definitely felt better now. The pain and exhaustion were still no picnic, but at least he no longer felt like death was imminent. Sam sat up straighter and blinked his eyes, really focusing on the barn around him for the first time. It was like a veil had been lifted and he could finally see his surroundings. The large space was only dimly lit, a couple of camping lanterns arranged to illuminate the area around them. He looked at the big man sitting next to him and realized that Betzgai was watching him with suspiciously narrowed eyes.

Soooo… He wasn't supposed to be feeling better. For the first time in days Sam felt like he could remember the hours of research he had done for this hunt, and think things through. The symptoms he'd been experiencing clicked into place. Son of bitch. He'd been witched. It was the most common form of skinwalker attack, and he'd been too hazy to think of it until now.

He didn't know how Dean had done it, he didn't even know how Dean had known it HAD to be done, but his brother had managed to counteract it in some way. And that little achievement had to be hidden from the witch sitting next to him.

Sam shook his head as though trying to clear ongoing dizziness and sagged against Betzgai's arm. It didn't take any real acting skills, he just stopped fighting the weakness that still permeated his body.

The witch nodded his head towards the back of the barn. "There is a tack room and small washroom. You must make yourself presentable before we leave here." Betzgai climbed to his feet and easily hauled Sam up next to him. A little too easily as far as Sam was concerned. The guy was like a rock, his muscles barely rippling when he lifted the solid young man up.

He held onto Sam's arm and walked him to the door of the washroom, holding the hunter upright when his shuffling feet caused him to stumble as they passed through the tack room. Sam used the opportunity to surreptitiously scan the room for anything that could be used as a weapon, but it was stripped bare. The washroom held an old pedestal sink and toilet. A threadbare rag and small towel were lying across the edge of the sink. A battery powered lantern hung from a nail.

"The water is not heated but it is clean. When you are done you may put on that shirt." He nodded at an old black T shirt hanging from a peg. "There is no way out except past me. Please do not try my patience by attempting anything foolish." He turned and walked away, back into the barn.

Sam moved to the sink and looked at himself in the mirror mounted on the wooden wall above it. It was cracked and cloudy but reflected enough for Sam to decide his appearance would scare children. And adults. Pale skin, red rimmed eyes buttressed by dark smudges, an impressive purplish bruise sneaking out past the hairline and onto his right temple, smears of blood, and of course the distinctive red finger marks on his jaw and around his throat. They would be purple in a few more hours. He looked like an actor at a haunted house attraction.

His shirt was a goner. The side was shredded and stiff with dried blood. The top of his pants on the left had also soaked up its fair share of blood, the dark blue mottled with darker stains. The pale skin and general weakness were suddenly pretty easy to understand. He gingerly pulled the shirt over his head, holding in a gasp at the burn across his ribs when he lifted his arms.

He ignored the bruises sprinkled over his chest and shoulders. Bruises were a Winchester trademark. He was more interested in the large gauze bandage over his ribs on the left, held tightly in place by wide swatches of tape. Spots had bled through the bandage in several spots, deep red fading to pink around the edges. It looked like Betzgai's newest bandaging efforts were doing the trick, though. There wasn't a lot of blood.

Sam turned the water on in the sink, allowing it to run over his hands, washing the grime away and cooling him off at the same time. He wet the rag and used it to wipe off his face and neck before running it over his chest and shoulders, shivering at the feeling of the water drops that ran down over his stomach and back. They skirted the edges of the tape before finally dampening the waist of his pants. With each drop that ran over him he felt nerve endings coming to life, brain synapses beginning to fire. To hell with Betzgai's concerns about his cleanliness. That was akin to the skinwalker wanting his food washed before eating it. Sam had his own reasons. The water was a relief after the heat of the barn. It was helping to chase the last vestiges of fog from his brain and taking the edge off of his weariness.

He turned to the toilet and was relieved that his bladder at least held something. He had downed a couple of bottles of water earlier and the dehydration seemed to be easing. The black T shirt was old but fairly clean. Sam was not a small man, but Betzgai's shirt was huge on him.

Betzgai was occupied on the other side of the barn and Sam moved quickly around the tack room, confirming that there was no way out of the barn through there. An old door in the back wall was effectively boarded shut. It would require tools, time, and a lot more energy than he currently possessed to break through the barrier. Sam moved to the room's doorway and prepared for Act Two.

His head hanging in feigned exhaustion, Sam made his way slowly across the barn. Betzgai was at the back of the truck, throwing items into boxes. Sam's bangs hid his eyes as he darted them from side to side. They finally settled on the hay bale where Betzgai had been sitting while playing the flute. Betzgai had picked up Sam's phone from the bale before calling Dean. Maybe he'd returned it to that spot. The lantern light left the top of the bale in shadows, but when Sam moved at just the right angle there was a slight reflection from something wedged between the bales. His phone? A piece of glass, anything sharp…

He headed towards the bale, keeping his gait a little stumbling, a little uncertain. Another couple of feet and he would lower himself to sit on it, seemingly too exhausted to move farther.

He was brought up short by a hand on his arm. God, he wanted so much to just lash out at this monster, take a stand here and now. Fifteen years of martial arts training should count for something… Reality was a bitch sometimes. Reality was that he might get a couple of good hits in, but the skinwalker was a tough opponent and Sam was not at his best. The fight would be a short one. And then there would be no way to warn Dean that he was next on the skinwalker hit parade.

Betzgai swung Sam to face him and checked his appearance. He gave a nod of approval before starting to wrap a length of rope securely around Sam's wrists. "I have been watching you," the witch began slowly, and Sam's stomach clenched. It relaxed when Betgai continued. "I believe that you are like _Tó Bájísh Chíní,_ Child Born for Water. He was the younger brother. Quieter, more pensive. The thinker. His brother's conscience. Dean? I believe he is _Naayéé' Neizghání,_ Monster Slayer. Dynamic, louder, prefers action to thought…" He looked at Sam with a small smile of anticipation. "…A more natural killer." His eyes continued to search Sam's face and he started to laugh. "I am right. I can see the truth on your face." Sam tried to school his features to reveal nothing and the witch just laughed harder.

Still chuckling he turned Sam to give him a push towards the truck. The hunter saw his opportunity and grabbed it. Sam allowed his legs to get twisted in the turn, stumbling and then falling. He threw his arms out and broke his fall against the hay bale. The cry forced from his lips when his left side hit the sturdy bale was the only legitimate thing about the fall. His vision swam at the burst of pain in his side but his hands never stopped. He ran them along the crack between the bales, his body hiding the action from Betzgai's view. His fingers closed over a smooth, cool, edge and he held tight as his arm was grabbed from behind and he was hauled to his feet.

The force of the pull from behind pulled his bound hands back against his stomach and he slipped the object onto his pocket, allowing the large T shirt to hide it from view. His fingers had recognized it at once, and he sent up a heartfelt prayer of thanks. You couldn't spend hours working and training with something and not recognize it by touch. The small stainless steel folding knife he kept at his ankle was not as vicious as his other knife, but he sure as hell was not complaining.

Betzgai made sure he was steady on his feet before walking him to the truck. "I am sorry for the discomfort I have had to cause you, brother. You can sleep as we travel." He sounded like he thought Sam should be grateful for his generosity.

Sam found he _was_ grateful when Betzgai loaded him into the truck's back seat and helped him to lie down comfortably, trusting the chicken wire panel to keep him confined. Grateful that his position would keep him hidden from the skinwalker while he worked on the ropes around his wrists.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Dean leaned against a tree trunk, invisible in the shadows. He was in a fringe of trees on the slope of Rockytop, watching the spot on the old fire road where Betzgai had parked the night before. The rifle was heavy in his hand and he rested the butt on the ground. He moved his head in circles and bounced his shoulders up and down, loosening the muscles of his neck and shoulders, calming himself. Preparing.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Sam pulled the knife from his pocket as soon the truck began moving. The abandoned farm used by Betzgai was closer to the Big Run fire road than Sam expected. It seemed like it was only a few minutes before the angle of the truck changed and they were moving uphill. Fire crews might have removed the barriers used to block this access point to the park, but they sure as hell hadn't done anything about improving the newly accessible section of road. Smooth pavement gave way to a rougher surface and Sam found himself bouncing around in the back seat, struggling to keep a grip on the knife.

He worked frantically, trying to saw the small blade through the rope. The rope was thick and coarse, difficult to cut, and he had no way to wedge the knife. He held it awkwardly in one hand with the blade pointing towards his wrists and moved it back and forth in a short sawing motion, trusting the sharpness of the blade to do the job. The rope separated slowly, strand by strand. Sweat started to run down the side of Sam's face as he blocked out everything but the knife and the rope. His hand started to cramp from the awkward position and repetitive movements. The farther the knife cut into the rope the harder it was to move as the cut edges seemed to grab on to the steel blade.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The rumble of the diesel engine heralded the truck's approach before the headlights became visible and Dean crouched behind a large tree stump. He laid his rifle across the jagged top of the stump and slowed his breathing, mentally getting ready to take the shot if it presented itself. He wasn't a master sniper, but he wasn't bad either.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The road was getting progressively rougher as they got further up the Run and Sam knew time was running out. He pressed down hard with one final swipe and the last strands separated. The knife fell from his numb fingers and landed on the floor in back of the passenger seat. Sam worked his wrists back and forth, gradually pulling them apart until the coils wrapping him loosened enough for him to slip his hands out. He chafed his wrists, desperately trying to restore circulation and feeling to his hands.

Sam bit down on the panic working its way out of his belly when the truck started to slow down. It was dark in the truck, but a shaft of moonlight provided just enough light for him to see the pale silver of the knife on the floor. He lunged half off of the seat trying to grab the knife just as the truck went over a bone jarring bump. The nose of the truck dipped and the knife slid under the passenger seat. Sam reached his hand under, fingers scrabbling, searching, but it had gone past a little hump in the floor under the seat and now Sam couldn't feel it.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The truck rolled down the road below him, bouncing over rough sections and then starting to slow down as the brake lights flashed red. Dean lowered his face and began to watch through the scope, keeping his breathing slow and steady, his finger light on the trigger. The truck halted in the same spot as before, bathed in moonlight. Dean smiled slightly when the truck began to move slowly forward, its front end angling towards Brown Mountain on the east of Big Run. Hopefully Betzgai was turning to face out of the valley, the same way he had parked the night before. That setup would give Dean a clear shot when Betzgai climbed out without the truck providing cover.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The truck rolled to a stop and Sam pushed himself backwards, back up onto the seat, his heart pounding. There wasn't going to be enough time. His fingers were still stiff and clumsy and he fumbled in his attempts to slip his hands back through the coils of rope. The truck began to roll forward again and Sam sagged in relief. The rope was much easier to handle with calmer hands. He grabbed the coils off of the floor and slipped his hands back through them, holding the cut ends hidden in his fists, pulling in as much slack as he could to make the bindings look solid.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Dean's smile faded when the truck's wheels straightened out. Betzgai wasn't turning it around, he was moving it so that he was parked underneath overhanging trees instead of in the open. Dean cursed silently when he understood the skinwalker would also be using the shadows to stay hidden in the night. He couldn't chance a shot if he couldn't see his target clearly.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

This time when the truck stopped the rumble of the motor fell silent and Betzgai climbed out of the front seat. Sam's door was pulled open and his veins turned to ice at the sound of a round being chambered into a handgun. The big man was preparing for his confrontation with Dean. Hands latched onto Sam's ankles and then he was sliding feet first out of the truck. The witch grabbed Sam's left arm and lifted him to a standing position. There was nothing feigned when Sam's knees gave out under him and he started to slide to the ground.

Betzgai's arm around his waist caught him and Sam grunted when the big man's hand put pressure on his left side as he lifted Sam back up. Sam closed his eyes and just concentrated on breathing for a few seconds until the world stopped spinning. "You seem to have reopened your wounds, brother," Betzgai said apologetically. "I'm sorry I can't rewrap them now. We don't have far to go and then you can rest."

They moved through a moonlit patch and Sam sagged backwards, letting himself come to rest against the big man's chest, and shooting quick glances down to both sides. His heart sank. He didn't see the handgun on either hip, and he didn't feel it anywhere on the front of Betzgai's waist. If it was tucked into the small of the witch's back Sam would have a much tougher time blocking his access to it. The skinwalker supported his weight easily as they began their slow walk to the meeting spot.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

It was too dark to make out movement around the truck, but Dean heard first one door open and close, and then another. There was the low murmur of a voice but Dean couldn't make out the words. Two figures appeared in the moonlight and Dean squinted through the scope looking for an opportunity to squeeze the trigger.

Betzgai was big, much bigger than Dean expected. Even with Sam sagging against him, it was easy to tell that he was not only taller than Sam, but much broader. And Sam **was** sagging. It looked like the witch was supporting a good bit of his weight. Not good on so many levels. There was no clearance between the two men and Dean's finger relaxed on the trigger. His eyes narrowed in concern and his stomach started to churn as he watched his brother. The two men moved together, back into the shadows of the trees on Brown Mountain, and Dean knew they were headed to the drainage basin.

His eyes remained fixed on the spot where he last saw his brother and his throat constricted with worry. Sammy didn't look good. Whether it was because of his injuries or because the witching was still affecting him… He just didn't look good. Dean waited until they'd had enough time to make it around a curve in the Run and then headed for Betzgai's truck.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Dean moved quickly away from the truck, unconsciously crouching down to shorten his silhouette in the moonlight as he crossed back over the Run to the Rockytop side. A glance over his shoulder as he slipped his knife back into its sheath confirmed that the truck was sitting considerably lower than it had been a few minutes before. Four flat tires tended to do that. No matter what happened, Betzgai wasn't going to be able to beat a hasty retreat in the truck. A quick search of the vehicle had turned up a handgun and a shotgun. Neither had ammunition but he still decided to play it safe and threw them into the woods.

Dean glanced at the truck one last time before moving back into the trees on Rockytop. The search had turned up a few other interesting items as well. The skinwalker should have had the pelt of a packrat in his inventory. Wallets, jewelry…an empty bank bag from Harpers Ferry with a Mountainside Café deposit slip tucked inside…and that was just what was loose in the back of the truck. God knew what was locked in the metal box. A couple of items that he found now rested safely in Dean's pants pockets until they could be returned to their owner.

He looked south down the Big Run, anticipation making his heart beat faster. Sam was slowing the witch down. Dean should have no problem moving past them unseen on this side of the stream and getting into position.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Sam stood with Betzgai in the shadows at the northern edge of the large clearing. The Rocky Mountain Run meandered in from a small valley to the east and joined with the Big Run in front of them. There were trees and bushes on the slopes surrounding the flat space, but the basin itself was devoid of vegetation. The only break to the level terrain was a scattering of boulders along the edges of the water on both sides. There was more smoke here than where they had parked, moving in small wisps from the side valley. It wasn't thick enough to make them cough, it was barely thick enough to cause a tickle in their throats. It was more a gentle reminder not to be fooled by the surface peace of the valley, to remember that the world was burning around them.

The clearing was empty of life, quiet except for the muted sound of the stream's scanty water trickling over rocks. There was no sign of Dean, but Sam didn't expect there to be. He knew his brother would bide his time, wait for the skinwalker to make the first move.

The big man at Sam's back was thrumming with excitement. His left hand was on Sam's left shoulder, alternating between clutching at Sam's T shirt and releasing it as he held the hunter against him. He grabbed the material tight with one spastic move and huffed out a quick breath and Sam knew he was about to break the silence.

"If you want to see your brother, you will show yourself," Betzgai finally called softly.

Sam held his breath, waiting to hear his brother's voice. For just a second he wavered into childhood, back to the time when his big brother was always there to save him, always knew what to do, always made everything better.

"Not gonna happen till I see Sam with my own two eyes. I've gotta see that he's okay." Dean's voice came from the southern end of the clearing.

A rush of relief closed Sam's throat at the sound of his brother's voice. Hard on its heels was fear, fear about what the witch was planning, fear because Dean didn't know that Betzgai was coming after him.

Betzgai's head began nodding in agreement, and Sam realized that this was what he wanted. He wanted to get closer to Dean. "We are going to grant your brother's wish," he whispered in Sam's ear. "You will walk with me. If you attempt to speak to him, to warn him, you will force me to kill you in front of him and then take my time killing him." His voice was calm, just stating the facts.

He kept his grip on Sam's shoulder with his left hand as his right reached into a sheath hanging behind his right hip and withdrew a large hunting knife. He held it a couple of inches from Sam's throat and began to propel the young hunter slowly forward, out of the shadows and into the moonlight. They stopped at the edge of the Rocky Mountain Run, the shallow water forming an illusory barrier between them and Dean.

There was movement at the edge of the trees on the southwest corner of the clearing, on the opposite side of the Big Run. Dean moved gracefully into view, the moonlight bathing him in a silver light. The empty ground between the two streams was a no man's land separating them. As long as Dean kept that between them, he would be safe.

"How 'bout you let him go?" Dean's voice was deceptively pleasant. Sam didn't need to see his brother's face clearly to picture the expression on it, the dangerous smirk that he got when he was really and truly pissed.

"As soon as you return the pelt that you stole from me," Betzgai replied reasonably. "You did bring it, didn't you?"

Dean's arms had been hanging at his sides. Now they moved upwards in a smooth sweep and a flashlight was clicked on. Betzgai took an involuntary step backwards and brought the knife to rest against Sam's throat.

"Oh, it's here alright."

The knife moved slightly away from Sam's skin when they realized that the light wasn't trained on them, it was pointed at the side of the mountain to their left. There was a slash across the sheer mountainside in that spot, a ledge bristling with stunted trees and bushes about forty feet above the ground. A low tree in the middle wore a thick black pelt, spread eagled and ominous looking.

Betzgai growled low in his throat and his head swung back towards Dean. The flashlight in Dean's left hand had been joined by a flare gun in his right, pointed at the pelt.

"Doesn't even matter if I hit the pelt directly," he called out in warning. "I hit any of that brush and Bagheera up there is toast. There's enough gasoline on that wood to make sure of that."

The witch took several deep breaths, each one slower and longer as he calmed himself.

"Here's how this is going to work," Dean continued. "You're going to let go of my brother and let him walk over to me. When I have him, he and I go that way." Dean jerked his head in the direction of the trees at his back. "And you can retrieve your friend."

"An interesting plan," Betzgai said with a smile, "except that I don't think your brother can make it to you unassisted." He lowered his hand from Sam's left shoulder to his side and gave it a hard jab with his fist.

Sam was completely unprepared for the move and couldn't stop the hard groan that escaped his lips as the world went white around him. His legs turned to rubber and he would have fallen if not for the big arm that wrapped around his waist. His head sagged backwards until it was resting against the muscular chest in back of him. When he forced his eyes open the moon was looping through the sky over him. Dean's cursing was mixed up with the roaring in his ears.

_Get it together, Sam. You're no help if you can't get it together. Dean's gonna need you here. Get it together._ He slowed his breathing by force of will, pulling in long shaky breaths, at the same time he lifted his bound hands in front of him, palms out in a calming gesture. _Calm down, Dean. It's okay, I'm okay._ He wondered if Dean could see the cut ends of the rope held to his palms by his bent fingers. Sam lifted his head and planted his feet to support his own weight again. He blinked owlishly at Dean and let his breathing settle back to normal. Betzgai let go of his waist and moved his hand back to Sam's shoulder, latching on to a solid fistful of the black T shirt.

"Sam?! Sammy?! You okay?"

He nodded and gave Dean a quick 'thumbs up'. He really was okay, his side had settled into a dull throb. Betzgai hadn't been trying to cause any real damage. It was the suddenness of the attack that had thrown him for a minute, not the seriousness of it. He focused on Dean and cursed silently when he saw that his brother had crossed the Big Run and was edging closer to their position. Once Betzgai had lured him far enough from the cover of the trees he would drop the knife and go for the gun. Dean was quick, even with the witch's head start it was a toss up as to who would have their weapon out first. Dean was also undoubtedly the better shot…under normal circumstances. There was nothing normal here. His brother would either hesitate or pull the shot for fear of hitting Sam.

Slowly but surely the knife was inching farther and farther away from Sam as Betzgai swung his arm forward. There was over a foot of clearance already, and Sam knew the witch was preparing himself to reach for the gun. Calling out to Dean would accomplish nothing. Sam would still be in the way of a shot. Sam took a slow breath. This was it. He wouldn't allow this SOB to hurt his brother.

Sam stoked the fire filling his belly, fueling the anger with the bone deep imperative to protect Dean. _You don't get him! Not him! NOT MY BROTHER!_

He swayed to the left, moving himself away from the center of Betzgai's chest. The witch's attention was fixed on Dean and he unconsciously extended his left arm out to the side to maintain his solid grip on the left shoulder of Sam's shirt. Sam stopped his sideways movement when he felt that his back was pressed up against the big man's left shoulder and extended arm.

The moonlight was bright enough to make out Dean's features, features that he knew as intimately as he knew his own. He saw the slight lowering of Dean's eyebrows and knew that his brother recognized that Sam's movements were not random. Dean stopped moving forward and his eyes narrowed slightly as he watched his brother.

_Good. Now that I have your attention…_

Sam dropped his hands down in front of him and prayed that Betzgai's attention stayed on Dean. He opened his fists, letting the ends of the rope drop free and wiggling his wrists to loosen the coils. There was a sudden tension in Dean's posture. His brother was ready.

Dean looked at Betzgai and gave a little smile, holding his attention. "So Wilson, how'd you—"

Sam let the ropes drop completely as soon as Dean started to talk. He slid his left foot back to balance himself and slumped down slightly, planting his right foot in front of him and bending his knee. He used his bent right leg to propel himself backwards, shoving back hard against Betzgai's left shoulder and the arm securely anchored to Sam's back. He swung his arms upward blocking the witch's right arm as Betzgai reacted by slashing the knife towards Sam.

The shove against Betzgai's left shoulder and arm broke Sam free from his grip at the same time it twisted the big man's body to the left and threw him off balance. Sam's weight was still balanced on his left leg, he smoothly brought his right leg back and slid it between Betgai's legs, hooking his foot around the back of Betzgai's right ankle. He placed all of the anger and frustration of the last day into his follow through as he swept the witch's right leg out from under him at the same time he shoved against the side of Betzgai's chest with his right elbow.

The big man fell onto his back with a bellow of rage and Sam struggled to keep his balance as he felt himself falling in the other direction. He landed on all fours and immediately pushed himself to his feet and splashed through the stream, praying that he wouldn't slip on a slick rock.

Out of the corner of his eye Sam could see the witch start to roll as soon as he hit the ground. He came up in a crouch and instantly dove into the trees with a speed and grace that took Sam's breath away. He had looked like a panther. Even without the pelt, he had moved like the big cat. For the first time, Sam started to understand the true extent of the skinwalker's abilities. Dean's bullets peppered the trees where Betzgai disappeared, but it was impossible to tell if any found their mark.

As soon as his feet reached the 'no man's land' on the other side of the first stream Sam sprinted towards Dean, careful to keep out of his line of fire. Dean turned his head towards Sam, tilting it quizzically as he bent down to pick up the discarded flare gun.

"DEAN! MOVE YOUR ASS!" Sam's shout and a gunshot were simultaneous, the bullet splitting the air where Dean had been standing a second before. The look Dean flashed Sam was an almost comical caricature of surprise, round eyed and open mouthed. It struck Sam that Dean was definitely not used to the things they hunted shooting back.

Dean scrambled away from the spot he occupied trying to throw off the witch's aim before coming to his feet at a flat out run. He slowed momentarily allowing Sam to draw even with him as they raced towards the boulders scattered on the other side of the Big Run. A bullet kicked up dirt at their feet and they moved in unison, swerving to make themselves harder targets.

Sam almost went down when they reached the Big Run, the mud along the edge of the shallow water grabbing at his feet. Dean's hand on his arm steadied him and the sound of another bullet whistling by kept him moving. They both dove when they neared the largest boulder, disappearing behind it as a bullet smacked off of it and ricocheted away.

"A gun?" Dean asked incredulously as he panted for breath, "A friggin gun? Isn't that against the Skinwalker Code of Conduct or something?"

"Guess he didn't get the memo," Sam gasped. It was dark in the shadow of the boulder. Sam couldn't make out his brother's features, but he knew Dean was straining his eyes trying to see in the dark at that moment, trying to get a look at his little brother.

"Sammy?" His voice was rough, hours of near panic and a hundred questions condensed into one word.

"I'm okay." A multi purpose phrase that the Winchester's used to describe every condition short of death.

Dean snorted in reply. "Don't bullshit me, man. 'Cause I saw those claws hit you last night, and I found blood when I was looking for you. Not to mention your voice sounds like you've been gargling glass."

Sam's hand unconsciously went to his throat and he massaged it lightly. It had been feeling better, but he was feeling some serious twinges again after yelling at Dean. "I got a couple of scratches on my side and hit my head." He swatted Dean's hand away when it instantly reached for him. They didn't have the time for Dean to play doctor. "It's fine. So what's the plan," He asked quickly, trying to distract his brother.

Dean looked at the boulders around them and leaned out slightly to see the empty area between the two streams. "The plan was to get you back, get our guns…oh…speaking of which…" Dean dug into one of the hiking pant's numerous pockets, pulling out the gun Sam had dropped on the ridge. He reached into another pocket and then presented the cell phone and folding knife he had found in Betzgai's truck. "…I believe these are yours. Anyway, we were gonna get our stuff and then go Rambo on Furby. Of course that was before I found out he'd be shooting back at us."

"He doesn't strike me as an expert marksman," Sam said wryly. "We were pretty easy targets out there."

"You're right, we were tough to miss," Dean agreed quietly, again glancing out towards the streams. "Him missing might not have just been 'cause he's a lousy shot, though."

"What do you mean?"

"Dude, there was a medicine bundle on the car. Bad jou jou," Dean said angrily. He stopped and fixed his attention on Sam. "You're feeling better, right? Navajo magic dust all worn off?"

"Yeah, I'm better." Technically, it wasn't a lie. The effects of the medicine bundle were gone. He wasn't inclined to give out any information beyond that. Dean had worried enough over the last twenty-four hours.

Dean gave a quick nod. "Yeah, well Pastor Jim set up some type of ceremony with Navajo medicine men in Arizona. They reversed the bad jou jou. If it all went according to plan our friend over there might be getting a dose of his own medicine by now."

Sam was lost in thought for a second. "We can use that. He's a psychopath, completely lost in Navajo legends. As much as he denies it, the Navajo Way has a powerful influence over… What? What's so funny?" Even in the dark between the boulders Sam could see Dean's wide grin.

"I knew you'd be in geek heaven with this guy," Dean said, shaking his head. The smile faded from sight and his head dropped. He reached a hand to Sam's shoulder, squeezing it tightly. "Christ, Sammy," he said thickly. "I'm glad you're okay." He cleared his throat. "Damn smoke. Okay," he continued briskly "as fascinating as this is, we've got to get out of here. I've got some stuff we'll need, stashed about a mile up the stream. We'll get the stuff, regroup, and figure out our next move. Along the way I'll fill you in on the info I got. I'm sure you'll figure out how we can use it." He finished with a quick smirk.

Sam pushed off the lethargy that was settling over him. The immediate adrenaline boost had faded a bit and he was starting to feel as though he had come out on the losing end of an encounter with a steam roller. He pointed at the edge of trees closest to the boulders. "That way?"

"Yeah, but maybe we should give him a distraction first." Dean raised the flare gun and pointed it towards the ledge where the pelt was on display.

"Dean!" Sam slapped his hand down. "You'll set the whole damn valley on fire around us! Embers land anywhere around here and it'll all go up."

Dean sighed with disappointment. "Spoilsport." He pushed himself to a crouch and looked at Sam. "You ready?"

_No, definitely not. Not a lot of choice though._ Sam hoped the darkness was hiding his face as well as it was hiding Dean's. He bit his bottom lip to stop himself from groaning when he gathered his legs under him and prepared to move. His side was on fire, the bandage against it thick and heavy. He gestured his readiness, not sure his voice would work. Dean turned away and melted into the darkness as he headed toward the trees. Sam reached a hand to the boulder next to him, steadying himself as he started to sway. He took a deep breath and remembered the comforting weight of Dean's hand on his shoulder, drew strength from the memory. _I can do this._ He propelled himself forward, following his brother.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Betzgai pulled himself easily from handhold to handhold until he was able to throw a leg up over the edge and haul himself onto the ledge. The air reeked of gasoline and the big man scowled in anger. It only took a minute to free his brother from the tangled branches that held him. He draped the pelt over his arm and followed the ledge to see where it lead, smiling when he realized it turned into a trail downwards.

There were things he needed in the truck. He had been ashamed when he finally understood the gun's inability to shoot true. The tool of the _biligaana_ was not to be used on the slayers of _Yé'iitsoh_. It was the way of a coward, the way of an unworthy and lazy man. If he was to claim their power for himself it must be done according to the old ways. It must be done when he was one with his brothers.

It was not necessary for him to follow them immediately. They would be easy to track for the same reason that they would not make it out of the valley tonight. He could smell it now with the heightened senses he had gained through repeated communion with his brothers. Once he joined with his brother it would be irresistible.

The blood being spilled by the younger brother, _Tó Bájísh Chíní,_ was plentiful, its scent rich and inviting.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**A/N**: I have to thank my son for his help with choreographing Sam's moves when he freed himself from Betzgai's grip. He has been studying Soo Bahk Do for seven years and I am very proud to say he will be testing for his second degree black belt at the age of 15 this spring. He is also a huge fan of Supernatural.

_Yé'iitsoh---_ A giant, the first of the monsters killed by the hero twins with the weapons given to them by their father, the sun. His remains are still visible today. Cabezon Peak, New Mexico, is his severed head; his dried blood the lava flow outside of Grants; and petrified wood his bones


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N**: First I want to make something clear. LOL This monster of a story has been living on my computer for a looong time. The following chapter was originally written at least a month or two before AHBL even aired. Dang copycats.

Once again, thank you for sticking with the story and for your encouraging comments. This fandom is just filled with truly wonderful people.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine, no profits made, thanks for letting me play.

(The following excerpt is not from the very end of chapter 9, it is merely the most appropriate spot for leading in to chapter 10.)

**From chapter 9**:

_Dean sighed with disappointment. "Spoilsport." He pushed himself to a crouch and looked at Sam. "You ready?"_

_No, definitely not. Not a lot of choice though. Sam hoped the darkness was hiding his face as well as it was hiding Dean's. He bit his bottom lip to stop himself from groaning when he gathered his legs under him and prepared to move. His side was on fire, the bandage against it thick and heavy. He gestured his readiness, not sure his voice would work. Dean turned away and melted into the darkness as he headed toward the trees. Sam reached a hand to the boulder next to him, steadying himself as he started to sway. He took a deep breath and remembered the comforting weight of Dean's hand on his shoulder, drew strength from the memory. I can do this. He propelled himself forward, following his brother._

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**Hozho Chapter 10**

The brothers kept to the edge of the trees as they followed the Big Run. They were not novices at moving through a forest silently at night. They weren't even novices at doing it when it was unclear if they were the hunters or the hunted.

Dean made a brief detour to the edge of the water to retrieve the rifle he had left concealed there. He silently handed Sam a bottle of water that had been stashed with the rifle, the unspoken demand clear from his expression. 'Drink'. Sam made an effort to stand straight and hold himself steady, feeling the weight of Dean's eyes on him as he tilted his head back with the bottle to his lips. When he got the very strong impression that Dean was about to ask how he was doing, Sam quickly screwed the cap back onto the bottle and gestured for Dean to resume walking. He was grateful that the night hid the blood soaking through the black T shirt. The sight might have shaken Dean's resolve to keep moving, and Sam wanted his brother to make it to the cave and whatever protection it offered.

It was obvious to Sam that he wouldn't be hunting Betzgai that night. He was doing a pretty good job of keeping up with the slow and steady pace set by Dean, and of holding up his end of the conversation as they shared information, but it was taking every scrap of stubbornness and willpower that he possessed to meet those simple demands. When even that wasn't enough and he started to falter he just thought about the greedy light in the skinwalker's eyes when he talked about Dean. He was damned if he was going to let his brother get caught out in a vulnerable position.

He wasn't worried about Betzgai getting away. Even if Dean hadn't flattened all four tires he knew the witch wouldn't leave the valley. The witch would come for the prizes he coveted. He would come for them.

Dean seemed to sense when it got to be too much for Sam, and they fell silent. Sam didn't even notice when they began to angle away from the edge of the trees, following a barely visible animal path. He was zoned into his own little world, struggling to keep putting one foot in front of the other, following wherever Dean lead. He was so tired it felt like he was moving underwater. The ever present sound of the cicadas and crickets sharing the night with them morphed into a solid hum in his ears and the world was in slow motion around him. He didn't see when his brother stopped in front of him and pulled out the flashlight, shining it into the dark mouth of an opening in the side of the mountain.

He kept walking until he was stopped by a not so solid obstruction. "Sam! What the hell? Watch where you're going!" There was definitely a touch of annoyance in his brother's tone. The impact knocked the flashlight from Dean's hand and it landed in the dry leaves at their feet.

"Sorry." Sam wasn't positive he even said it aloud. He hoped so, he wanted to make sure Dean knew how badly he felt. That he just couldn't go any farther, and that he was probably about to scare the hell out of his brother.

The humming in his ears turned into a loud rushing sound and his legs crumpled under him. He could feel himself sliding to the ground until strong arms caught him around the waist and he was sagging against a solid chest.

"Sammy? Alright…it's okay…I've got you…"

The words were a soft litany breathed into his ear, words that brought a gentle comfort remembered from childhood, when it was Dean who held him when he was sick, who soothed him when he was injured. Sam's forehead came to rest against the top of Dean's shoulder, nestled in the crook of his neck. It was warm and strong and made Sam feel like everything was going to be okay. He didn't have the energy to pull away from the pressure against his side as his brother held him, could only give a low moan, and was vaguely sorry when he did. Afraid his brother would withdraw the solid support of his arms and the comfort they offered.

"Okay, it's okay…I'm gonna sit you down and we'll see what's going on, okay?...You with me here Sammy?" He was lowered gently to the ground until he was sitting propped against the sheer stone wall next to the cave. "What…God, Sam, you should have said something." Dean's voice was choked, cracking, and something inside of Sam ached at the sound.

Sam forced his eyes open. The fallen flashlight illuminated his brother crouched next to him. Dean looked stricken as he stared at his own right hand and arm. They were painted red with Sam's blood.

"Nothin' you coud've done bout it. Din wanna worry you," Sam whispered, the words slurring.

"How bad is it? Where are you hurt?" Dean's hands ran over Sam's chest and shoulders, finally stopping when Sam jerked away from the touch on his side.

"Jus' scratches," Sam murmured.

Dean snorted softly. "Well your scratches are bleeding pretty good. I think you need a new bandaid. I'll be right back." Dean squeezed his shoulder and then stood up. Sam was surprised at the void left behind when his brother walked away.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Dean moved into the cave and took a deep shuddering breath. The open front was wide but it narrowed into a V towards the back. The narrowed area combined with a well placed block of stone formed a protected alcove and Dean quickly spread out the sleeping bag there. He put a battery powered lantern on top of the stone and turned it on.

He was moving on autopilot, the familiar actions not requiring thought as he gathered the first aid supplies he had left earlier. He used a piece of gauze to wipe the blood from his hand and arm with angry swipes, trying not to look at it. Should've known it was too good to be true when it seemed like Sam had survived his time with Betzgai virtually unscathed. It became obvious that Sam was hurting after they'd been walking five minutes, but every time he had looked at Sam, prepared to question his ability to continue, Sam had pointedly looked away and picked up his pace. The kid was tough. He wouldn't know how bad it was until he got a look at it. God knew how many other things were hidden by the darkness.

Dean wrestled the fear down. When Sam collapsed and he saw the blood—the red smear across his own hand and arm… Okay, now THERE was an emotion he didn't want to revisit any time soon. Or ever.

He moved swiftly to the front of the cave and crouched next to Sam, reaching for his wrist. "Hey, how ya doing there Sammy?" Sam's skin was warm and dry, his pulse strong and a little slow. So far, so good. Dean had seen serious blood loss and the resultant shock enough times to know that Sam wasn't there yet. Wouldn't get there at all if Dean could help it.

Sam's head turned towards him and his eyes cracked open. "Jus peachy," he said with a hint of a smile. "You wouldn't happen to have a bed and a steak dinner in there, wouldja?"

Dean's shoulders dropped as some of the tension left him. "Almost," he promised. "You think you can walk if I help you?"

Sam lifted his right arm, draping it over Dean's offered shoulders. Dean held onto the hand over his shoulder and used his left hand to grab the back of Sam's pants. He pushed himself upwards, using his legs to power the lift as Sam sluggishly got his legs under him. They stood still for a moment when Sam's legs started to buckle again. His arm across Dean's shoulder's tensed and he panted lightly as he managed to straighten his legs and support his own weight. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Got dizzy for a second."

"Forget the steak, sumo boy," Dean grunted, "you need a diet. Carrot sticks or something." He began moving into the cave slowly, pacing himself to his brother's shuffling steps.

"It's all muscle."

"Whatever you say, Mr. Stay Puft."

They stopped next to the sleeping bag and Sam looked down and grunted. "Cozy."

"Better than the Ritz," Dean said as he lowered his brother. "Casa de la Flintstone."

Sam started to giggle. "Does that make you Dino?"

"What are you, drunk?" Dean helped Sam lie back, wincing in sympathy when Sam gave a soft hiss of pain.

"Not drunk, injured. There's a difference. Injured is noble," Sam murmured.

"But drunk is more fun," Dean said softly, blinking against the sting of moisture in his eyes. The lantern allowed him his first real look at his brother. Bruising on his jaw, his throat… Dean looked away for a second, fighting to control his anger when he saw the distinct finger marks imprinted on his brother's neck. He had put them there as surely as if it had been his hand around Sam's neck. For his next performance maybe he could find a rattler and poke it with a stick while Sam stood next to it. "How's your throat, man? Breathing okay? Swallowing?"

"Hurts, but it's not closing up or anything," Sam reassured him. His voice was getting a bit stronger and clearer, the exhaustion seeming to ease as he rested. A small frisson of relief worked its way through Dean.

He put his hand on Sam's forehead and gently turned his head to the side, examining the bruise on his right temple and tracing it back to the knot and scabbed over cut on the side of Sam's head. He prodded the area and Sam slapped at his hand.

"Cut it out you sadist! That hurts!"

"Just confirming that your head really is harder than a rock. Any nausea?" Dean pulled a small penlight from the first aid supplies and checked Sam's pupils. The exhaustion...the collapse...probably was just from a combination of the injuries and lasting effects of the powder and witching, but Dean's mother hen voice kept reminding him it could also be from a head injury that was more severe than they knew.

"Some nausea at first. Nothing much. Look, if I have a concussion it's a mild one," Sam said impatiently. "Shouldn't you be keeping a lookout for our friend?"

"Hear all the bugs screaming out there?" Dean nodded towards the cave's wide opening. "They're keeping watch right now. Didn't you notice how they go quiet when he's around? Don't worry, I've got things ready if he shows up." _Although I'd be a lot happier if we had a bit more of an arsenal. Not gonna share that happy thought_. "Any double vision? How many fingers am I holding up?" He held up two fingers.

"Two." Sam held up his hand with his middle finger extended. "How many am I holding up?"

"You know you make a lousy patient?"

Sam snorted softly. "Pot, meet kettle."

Dean steeled himself for the next part. He'd sooner cut off his own arm than cause his brother pain, but for the second time in a couple of days he had no choice. He gently pulled the hem of the black T shirt up, exposing Sam's side. "Huh." The professional looking bandage and careful taping was a surprise.

Sam had closed his eyes when Dean started lifting the shirt, but he cracked them open a bit and eyed his brother suspiciously. "Huh, what?"

"Didn't realize somebody already Florence Nightingaled you. Did you bandage this?" The large bandage was dark red, soaked through, but there was no additional blood making its way down Sam's side.

"No. Betzgai's a frustrated candy striper. Or he didn't want his dinner to spoil. He cleaned it up and changed the bandage not long ago," Sam explained.

A pang of fear when through Dean at the news that this was all new blood. He moved the lantern to a better angle and examined the bandage more closely, pressing around it with clean gauze. The bandage was saturated, but no new blood appeared to be seeping through it. "It looks like the bleeding slowed down. I'm afraid if we take the bandage off we're going to reopen everything." He looked at Sam with a worried frown.

"Just leave it," Sam said slowly, still trying to catch his breath after Dean's prodding. "I don't think there's anything special going on with the bleeding, I think it just keeps getting torn open." Sam's eyes roamed over the dirt and rock surrounding them before he looked at Dean with a wry grin. "Working on it here probably wouldn't be a good idea. You better keep it covered. It's fine."

"It's not gonna stay fine if we don't keep the bleeding under control," Dean said quietly. "For now we'll pack some more gauze on top and—" He stopped when Sam's hand clamped suddenly onto his arm. Sam stared at him, his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. "What?"

"Listen," Sam said softly.

Dean quieted and listened intently, but there was nothing to hear. Which, of course, was the point. There was nothing to hear. No cicadas, no crickets, none of the little flying and buzzing insects that normally made the night come alive. Silence.

He looked at his brother's side and hesitated. If he could just throw some more gauze on and wrap it tight… The psychic boy wonder must have read his mind.

"No time!" Sam hissed. "Just help me up."

Dean switched off the lamp and placed it on the ground behind them. It was dark in the cave, but their weapons were already out and ready. It wasn't a large arsenal. Weapons had to share space with first aid and other supplies, and he'd had to leave behind the backpack and weapons he'd stashed near the Rocky Mountain Run.

He grasped Sam's arm and pulled him up into a sitting position. His younger brother scooted backwards so that his back was resting against the rock wall. Sam had a line of sight over the top of the block from that position. Dean handed him extra magazines for the Beretta, trying to subtly judge if his brother was ready for this encounter. He felt a brief surge of satisfaction when Sam checked to make sure a round was chambered and then placed the magazines in a convenient spot, his movements sure and efficient.

Dean made sure the rifle and a sawed off shotgun were within reach on the ground in back of them, although he didn't expect either to be of much help. The rifle wasn't made for close quarters, and the spray pattern of the shotgun's pellets created the danger of ricochets in the cave unless their target was close. A lit flashlight was carefully placed on the other side of the cave, a few feet in front of their position. The light shining toward the front of the cave was of limited help in illuminating the large area, but the glare would make it tougher for Betzgai to see them in the shadows.

He returned to crouch next to Sam behind the stone block. The cover was a necessity until they knew what form the attack would take. Betzgai had already shown he was willing to use a gun.

The space for a number of feet in front of the cave's wide opening was free of brush, and enough moonlight filtered down to allow them to see it clearly from their position. They sat side by side, their right arms lying across the top of the stone block, their guns pointing out into the night.

The attack, when it came, was swift. A dark form exploded out of the bushes directly in front of the cave and headed straight towards them. Both guns blasted the night, a fusillade of bullets flying to meet the charging threat. All they saw was a flash of red eyes and then the panther was gone, lifting into the air and disappearing.

"What the…?!"

"Sonuvabitch he's quick!" Dean ground out in frustration. "There's a ledge above the opening, he jumped up on that. Jesus! It's like shooting at a wendigo!"

"At least bullets will work if we manage to hit him."

"Oh, we'll hit him alright," Dean growled. "He's—"

He didn't get a chance to finish the thought. The black shape dropped lithely from the ledge to hit the ground at the mouth of the cave. As soon as they squeezed their triggers he leapt to the side, disappearing out of their line of sight.

Dean cursed under his breath.

"He's purposely drawing our fire. Wants us to run out of ammo," Sam observed quietly.

"Yep. Smart bastard." Dean looked at his brother thoughtfully. "You were roomies for a day. How do we get to this guy, Sam?" he asked as he handed Sam a water bottle.

Sam pursed his lips, keeping his eyes fixed on the front of the cave. He spoke slowly, as though he was thinking out loud. "The thing he wants the most, what he's living for right now, is to go home. He wants to go back to the Navajo lands. I got the impression he was driven out after he killed his uncle."

The brothers lifted their guns in unison at a slight rustling in the bushes outside of the cave. There was a ripple of movement through the underbrush moving from left to right and Dean had to forcibly restrain himself from shooting at it. He knew it was Betzgai trying to rattle them, but in some ways their form of hunting was like all other hunting. You didn't shoot at what you couldn't see when you were in the woods.

They relaxed slightly when the movement stopped and Sam sighed softly. He continued talking in a voice that was so low Dean had to strain to hear him. "Betzgai would deny it, but I think he's afraid of the _hataali_ and their power. I think he believes in the Navajo Way even though being a witch is the antithesis of those beliefs." Sam tapped his temple with his index finger. "Contradictions don't apply to him."

Sam shifted his position against the block and his breath caught in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut and even in the dim light Dean could see Sam's fingers denting the sides of the water bottle.

"Sam?" Something tightened in Dean's chest. There was nothing he could do to ease his brother's pain.

Sam let his breath out in a soft whoosh and opened his eyes. "Yeah, I'm okay. Sorry, I moved wrong."

Dean glanced from the discarded first aid supplies to his brother and his lips twisted in frustration. "We've got to make sure that bleeding stopped and you've got to get some rest." He kept his voice low. "So do you think he'll back off a bit if we let him know his buddies back home are sending some bad mojo his way?"

"Deep down he knows they have the power to hurt him, but he's got a lot invested in believing he's stronger than them. Telling him they're moving against him is going to push him over the edge. Big time." Sam flashed a quick smile but then sobered. "And then he's going to come after us. Hard. If we can hold him off I think it'll scare him, and then he'll back off."

Dean gave a quick nod. "So we light his fuse and just be ready when he comes." He shifted, preparing to stand, when Sam's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Dean, when he comes, it's going to be vicious. He thinks we're the key to everything he wants. When he found out we were brothers…He thinks we're connected to a famous legend about two mythic brothers, Monster Slayer and Child Born for Water. He's lost whatever hold he had on reality. He's convinced that if he kills us, BOTH of us, he'll get our 'power'. And then he can go home."

Sam's eyes had dropped midway through his recitation. He was hiding something. Now was not the time for that. "What aren't you telling me?" Dean sighed impatiently when Sam didn't answer. "Sam?" He knew he sounded angry and frustrated and didn't care.

"You're in danger because of me!" Sam's voice was low and brimming with bitterness. "It's because of me he thinks we're the brothers. He used me to get to you. That meeting tonight was never about getting the pelt. It was about him getting to you. And I couldn't do a damn thing to stop it."

"Sam, the guy's the size of a mountain and he had you whacked out on some kind of pixie dust. Not to mention you've developed an annoying tendency to bleed all over everything. What exactly do you think you should have done?"

Sam tilted his head and rested it against the wall next to him. Exhaustion was evident in every line of his body. "I don't know. Something. At least warned you or something."

"Yeah, and while you were at it you should have ended hunger and brought world peace," Dean said sarcastically. "As long as you're passing blame around, Sammy, make sure you save some for me. I should have never let that bastard get his hands on you to begin with."

Sam lifted his head and looked at Dean, his expression lost in the dark. "Dean, that wasn't your fault," he said with sincere surprise.

"Yeah, well none of the rest of it was your fault. So stop thinking that way." Dean stood up and moved to the wall opposite where Sam sat. He knew the issue wouldn't die that easily, but he just didn't have time for the nooks and crannies of his brother's brain at the moment. He slipped a new magazine into the Beretta and leaned the rifle against the wall next to him. A glance at Sam confirmed that his brother was leaning forward against the stone block, ready.

"Hey Wilson! I talked to some old friends of yours today!" Dean yelled. "They said to send their regards to Wilson Betzgai the skinwalker!" Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam turn his head towards him in surprise and he smirked. "Didn't think I knew that one, did you?" he whispered. In some circles it was believed that if a skinwalker was identified by name while 'in the skin' he would die. Dean shrugged. "Figured it was worth a shot."

The scream of a large cat split the quiet night and reverberated through the cave. Okay, that was impressive. Dean worked to get some saliva into his suddenly dry mouth. "They also wanted you to know they were holding a sing in your honor! You pissed off some pretty powerful _hataali_, Wilson. They said it was time to restore the _hozho_ that you had disturbed. The sing should be done by now. I'm figuring that means that right about now it sucks to be you."

The cat screamed again and then a black blur was racing towards them.

The panther melted to the side when they began to fire, the evasive move swift and graceful. It was partially into the cave and coming on fast, bobbing and weaving like a prize fighter. It would have looked comical if it wasn't so frustrating. And pretty damn scary. The volley of shots was deafening in the cave but neither brother seemed able to touch the creature.

When one of their shots hit, it was as much a surprise to the brothers as it was to the cat. He was within a few feet of them when he stumbled and rolled to the side, throwing off their aim. In the split second it took them to adjust he was back on his feet and disappearing out of the cave.

Dean slumped against the rock wall in back of him, exchanging the magazine in the gun before wiping the sweat from his face with the back of his arm. The entire episode had lasted mere seconds, but he felt like he had run a marathon. At this rate their ammunition would dwindle quickly. Sam's head was dropped forward, his forehead resting on the arm that still held the Beretta extended in front of him. "You with me, Sam?"

The shaggy head lifted in slow motion and Sam gave a little wave with his left hand in acknowledgement before reaching for the bottle of water. Something twisted in Dean's gut and he was back at Sam's side in a couple of long strides.

"Let's get your side wrapped a little better while we can," he said. His voice was rough but his hands were gentle as he helped his brother to move sideways so that his injured side was no longer close to the stone block and he was leaning back against the wall. The silver pistol was still tightly clutched in Sam's right hand.

Dean placed his own gun on top of the stone where he could easily grab it and crouched, straddling Sam's long legs. He shuddered at the feel of the T shirt, wet with his brother's blood, as he slid it up over Sam's ribcage. "Hold this out of the way."

Sam took another swig from the bottle before putting it to the side and using his left hand to hold the shirt in place. His movements were a little too sluggish for Dean's liking.

The gauze and wrap were already out and waiting for him from his earlier interrupted attempt at nursing. When he originally packed the first aid supplies it had felt like he was bringing enough to supply a small hospital. Now he was glad for the excess. He made a large pad and placed it over the original sodden bandage, pressing it firmly in place. Sam jerked away from the touch with an indrawn hiss of pain. "Sorry, Sammy." There was no getting around it. Without the lamp it was too dark to see if there was additional bleeding, and they couldn't take a chance. Being gentle was not an option.

He had additional gauze ready and placed more over the first batch when he felt damp spots starting to leak through. The top layer remained dry and Dean sighed with relief. If there was any additional bleeding it was apparently light. Absolutely NO bleeding would be best at that point, but he'd take what he could get.

Dean kept the pressure on for a few more minutes, keeping his eyes on the mouth of the cave. Betzgai was giving them a longer break this time. Maybe they had done some damage. He grabbed the tape and made quick work of taping the gauze in place so that the bandage itself was applying pressure. He poured some water from Sam's bottle onto an extra piece of gauze and used it wipe the blood from his hands before handing it to Sam so that he could do the same. He sat back on his haunches in satisfaction. At least now he felt like he was doing something for his brother.

"Dude, are you done?" Sam asked, throwing the makeshift rag to the ground after he wiped his hands.

"Yep."

"Then get the hell off of me!" Sam snapped, pushing against Dean's knee.

Dean grinned widely as he stood up. A snarky Sam was a Sam who was feeling a little better. Dean got a smart mouth when he was hurting, but Sam usually got quiet. "Drink your water, bitch."

Sam saluted him with the water bottle as he raised it to his lips and Dean caught the message and nodded his head. _You're welcome, little brother_.

Dean rummaged around in Sam's backpack and pulled out a bottle of water for himself and a couple of packs of crackers. He tossed one of the packs to Sam. "Try to eat some." He moved around so that he could sit on the top of the stone block facing out into the night. The sound of crackling cellophane reassured him that Sam was following his suggestion. He opened up his own pack and popped a cracker into his mouth, chewing slowly. He was more tired than he wanted to admit, even to himself. It was tempting to let his guard down now that there was a slight break in the action, but that would be beyond stupid. The night outside of the cave was still dead silent.

"Dean, don't you want to know why Betzgai thinks we're the brothers in the legend?" Sam's voice was hesitant and Dean sighed. He should have known his kid brother was carrying around more than he'd let on so far. When didn't he? He had the sudden urge to shut the conversation down. But backing away from needed conversations was what had gotten them into so much trouble to begin with.

"Because one look at me and he knew he was dealing with a mythic figure?" He couldn't resist making a half hearted attempt to lighten Sam's mood.

"Because of 'the Shining'." Sam chuckled but there was no humor in the sound. "Apparently it actually does shine. When he's in animal form, anyway."

A chill worked its way down Dean's back. "You wanna explain that, Sam?"

"I wish I could," Sam replied tiredly. "He said that his 'animal brothers' could see a glow around me when they looked at me. That's why he took me instead of just killing me. That's why he's been stalking us, why he lured us to Virginia. I know you think it's because we're hunters, but it's not. It's because of me…and whatever the hell it is that's going on with me!"

The chill turned into an outright shudder. His brother's voice was scared. It was asking Dean for answers, to make it all better. Dean just didn't know how to do that. "I know it's not a lot of fun…" Dean looked at Sam and grimaced. "Okay, it plain sucks…but dude, whatever is going on with you, you saved Jenny and those kids back in Lawrence. And Max's mom. And yours truly." He put every ounce of conviction that he could muster into his voice, trying to convince both Sam and himself. "We'll figure it out Sam. It's just gonna take some time. We already knew that your abilities attract some freaky things. Nothing new there, Haley Joe. We've just gotta add skinwalkers to the list of your admirers." He gave a little shrug as though this newest development did not faze him in the least.

Sam's only reply was a soft sigh. It was impossible to tell if the sigh signified Sam's acceptance of Dean's reassurances. It was more likely it just meant that this was a new nugget of guilt that his little brother was going to stash away to pull out at the worst possible moment.

"Eat your crackers," Dean chided, sounding like a mom pushing a five year old to finish their dinner. Knowing the right thing to say in emotionally charged situations was definitely not a skill that John Winchester had passed on to his eldest. Hell, it wasn't even a skill that John Winchester possessed. Dean stood up and looked toward the front of the cave impatiently. "Where the hell is he? Maybe we nailed him better than we thought."

"I think the fact that we hit him at all probably has him a little nervous. He's not as impervious to bullets as he thought he was…maybe because of the sing."

"What do you think? Think the _hataali_ mojo is working?" Dean grabbed the penlight from the first aid supplies and moved to the spot where the big cat had stumbled, looking for blood.

"We fired off a lot of rounds and the guns didn't jam, and we DID get a hit. I'd say that's a good sign."

"Huh?" The penlight's concentrated beam picked up a spatter of red and Dean moved forward following the crimson trail, trying to judge how bad the injury was from the amount of blood left behind. He crouched down, looking at some blood near the wall.

"There's a lot of anecdotal evidence that guns tend to jam when you're shooting at skinwalkers. Especially when a lot of rounds are fired. Something about skinwalkers seems to throw aim off too."

Dean looked over his shoulder at his brother with his eyebrows raised. "And you're just telling me this now?"

He realized his mistake a second too late. Exhaustion and worry had made him sloppy. Looking at the ground instead of keeping track of his position in the cave had allowed him to move too close to the entrance. A soft 'huff' sounded outside the cave and Dean flicked off the penlight just a moment before a huge figure lumbered around the edge of the cave mouth on all fours. Its massive head swung back and forth, deep red eyes searching the interior of the cave for the grizzly's intended prey.

Of course he'd switched forms. If they'd thought the panther was tough to stop with their guns…the grizzly would be even tougher.

Dean leaned his back against the cave wall and began to slowly rise to his feet. It was a major miracle that the creature had not spotted him as soon as it entered the cave. Well, a miracle combined with the interesting fact that injuries incurred by one form seemed to transfer to other forms. A furrow creased the bear's head above its right eye, and blood from the wound ran into the eye and matted the coarse brown fur around it.

The hunter was trapped between the wall and the bear's huge form on its blind side, with less than a foot of clearance between them. The Beretta's pearl grip was slick in his sweaty palm as he fought the panic induced desire to raise the gun against the bear's side and pull the trigger. If he was extremely lucky such a shot might hit something vital and kill the goliath in front of him, but there was no doubt in his mind that even if he delivered a mortal wound, the bear would take him along on its way to hell. Didn't matter if it was by crushing him or slashing him in its death throes, dead was dead. And that was best case scenario. He would only have one chance, and his chances of making it a mortal wound were slim.

The calculations and possibilities flew through his mind in the second it took him to complete the rise to his feet. The bear's hindquarters weren't even fully inside the cave yet. If the bear continued on its course past him it would be between him and Sam. Sam who apparently had some kind of freaky ass aura that would draw the bear right to him, half blind or not. There was only one option open to him as far as Dean could see. Get to the other side of the bear where he'd have room to move, room to shoot. Draw the bear away from Sam. Piece of cake.

Without giving himself time to think about the sheer lunacy of it, Dean placed both hands onto the bear's shoulder hump and started to vault up and over. The sucker was huge. The hump came up to the bottom of Dean's chest, putting it at over four feet tall.

The skinwalker reacted with complete outrage, swinging its head first in one direction and then the other as it tried to reach the sudden weight on its back. Dean felt like he was on the back of a bucking bronco as he tried to scramble over. The illusion was complete when the bear came partially up onto its hind legs, rolling the boulder like muscles in it shoulders. Dean might have been alright if he had been able to get a solid grip with his right hand, but the pistol in his hand meant his hold was tenuous at best.

The bear dropped to all fours but immediately bounced violently back into the air, shrugging its shoulders, and Dean was flying through the cave.

"DEAN!"

He collided with the wall on the other side of the cave in an explosion of pain and slid to the ground. His vision was more than a little gray and darkening quickly but he could definitely see the bear's eerie red eyes fixed on him, and coming a step closer.

A set of legs came into his line of vision and Dean cursed inwardly. _God damn it Sammy I was trying to keep him away from you._ Dean felt like his head was no longer attached to the rest of his body. He couldn't seem to convince his hands that there was a gun around here somewhere that they could put to good use. Maybe if he could focus his eyes enough to see where the gun had ended up…

The roar of the shotgun reverberated off of the stone walls and then came again as Sam let loose with the second barrel. The bear reared up onto its hind legs, a deep rumble built from its chest and exploded into a deafening roar as it took a step towards them. It shook its head as it continued to move forward and Dean felt small drops of blood spattering onto his face. Sam took another step planting himself solidly between his brother and the skinwalker and Dean saw a flash of silver. There was a grunt and the sound of metal hitting rock.

Things were fading in and out. Dean fought to remain conscious as the struggle played out in the twilight world before him. There was a loud swoosh through the air and Sam's legs were stumbling back towards him. _No no no no no…_

The world was melting away around Dean, existing as muffled noise and fleeting impressions. There were more swooshing noises, something beating at the air, the bear was snarling and grunting as Dean was pushed into the wall at his back by Sam's legs. His brother was backed up as far as he could go and dirt and small stones from the cave floor were pelting Dean, thrown up as the giant grizzly performed a macabre dance in front of them, his claws slashing through the air over and over. _Oh god, no, Sammy…_

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**A/N**: First, I'm sorry for the cliffie. Again. It just really was the most logical spot to insert a break.

The items out of Navajo lore mentioned in this chapter did not come from the dark recesses of my own mind. I did find mention of each one during research. And in case I never mentioned it, skinwalkers in animal form are said to have the physical and mental characteristics of their human form. If the human is brilliant, so is the animal. If the human is larger and stronger than the average, the animal will also be larger and stronger than the norm.

I know a couple of people began wondering in the last chapter how the boys could go from a complete breakdown in their relationship to once again communicating. I don't think the boys ever really lost their close connection. They just lost sight of it for a while when insecurities and half truths threw them off balance. The events since then, and the fact that they were both put in the position of being incredibly worried about the other, have knocked things back into perspective. Will they ever really discuss the issues? They're Winchesters. They will discuss some of it, and they will come at some of it from different directions. But they will always hold some of it inside. That's what makes them so interesting.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N**: I didn't want to leave the cliffie hanging, so a quicker update this time around. Vanessa, a couple of paragraphs were added just for you. It's not much, but I'm trying.

Once again, thank you for sticking with the story and for your encouraging comments. I'm really just mucking my way along trying to figure out this whole 'writing' thing, and your kind reviews have helped me to know when certain elements are working okay.

As always, all errors are mine.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine, no profits made, thanks for letting me play.

**From chapter 10**:

_The world was melting away around Dean, existing as muffled noise and fleeting impressions. There were more swooshing noises, something beating at the air, the bear was snarling and grunting as Dean was pushed into the wall at his back by Sam's legs. His brother was backed up as far as he could go and dirt and small stones from the cave floor were pelting Dean, thrown up as the giant grizzly performed a macabre dance in front of them, his claws slashing through the air over and over. Oh god, no, Sammy…_

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**Hozho Chapter 11**

Sam looked at his brother's dumbfounded expression at the news that using guns could be tricky around skinwalkers and just shook his head. He'd assumed Dean knew that. It didn't make a difference anyway. No matter how much trouble guns could be around the Navajo witch, they were still the weapon of choice.

He was about to remind his brother of that when his eyes caught the movement at the mouth of the cave. Damn close to Dean. The small light Dean was holding flicked off just a second before the unmistakable silhouette of a large grizzly shuffled into view.

Sam froze, fear stealing his breath away. Dean was so close to the bear that the fur on its side had to be in his face where he was crouched. His brother came into view as he carefully rose to his feet practically touching the grizzly. It was inconceivable that the animal didn't see him there. It was only a matter of time, though…seconds…and then Dean would be dead. Unless Sam could draw the bear's attention.

He began to slowly push himself to his feet, his earlier weakness forgotten. The bear's head stopped swinging and the red eyes fixed on him. If his new glow in the dark status worked to get this creature away from his brother he swore he would never complain about it again.

_What the hell?_ Sam's mind refused to comprehend what he was seeing. His brother was reaching towards the bear instead of giving Sam the chance to draw it away. Okay, he was definitely starting to hallucinate, because it looked like his brother was—oh crap.

The damn rifle was on the other side of the cave, too far away. Sam shoved the Beretta into his waistband, it didn't have the stopping power to drop the large animal quickly enough to help Dean. The shotgun could do some real damage if he was close enough. He twisted around to grab it with his left hand, ignoring the flare of pain in his side. The creature was attempting to throw Dean off of its back by the time Sam turned back around. It reared up violently and twisted its body in a mighty shake, sending Dean flying.

"DEAN!" Sam screamed his brother's name as he charged around the block of stone. His long legs covered the distance to his brother before the bear had managed to take two steps towards the downed Winchester. Dean was crumpled on the ground at the base of the wall. His eyes were open but he looked dazed.

Sam skidded to a stop partially in front of Dean and shot from the hip, the shotgun's pistol grip sliding in his blood covered hand. It wasn't the perfect shot he would have liked, but at that point he was more interested in slowing the behemoth down before it got any closer to Dean. The pellets blew across the bear's side at an oblique angle, opening up a wide bloody swath across its ribs. The bear took another step forward and Sam fired again. The second blast was not as sharp as the first and Sam realized he had just come very close to the gun jamming. Whatever the cause, the pellets scattered into a wider shot pattern than they should have, hitting the bear in the right shoulder and across the side of his skull.

The skinwalker dropped its head and charged forward, stopping when it was a few feet away to rise up onto its hind legs. A rumble gathered intensity until it became a powerful roar that ended with a vicious snarl. It towered over the brothers and began to shake its head in fury as Sam took another step, setting himself as a barrier between the creature and his brother. Drops of blood rained down from the bear's massive head and it began to advance towards them.

Sam pulled the Beretta from his waistband, his head tilting back so he could look into the red eyes. They were staring down at him with a greedy hunger that filled Sam's stomach with ice. He brought the gun up in slow motion and was not surprised when a huge paw batted it out of his hand with an almost playful gesture. It hit the wall somewhere near Dean and the thought of his brother yanked Sam out of the slight daze that had captured him.

He sensed the other paw and its wicked claws as it swung towards him and threw himself backwards. The claws passed an inch in front of his chest in a blow that would have ripped through his ribcage if it had connected. The bear's other paw arced downwards towards his head and Sam stumbled back against the wall, his legs pressing into his brother behind him. The claws split the air in front of his face with a _whoosh_ and he could feel the resulting breeze stir the hair on his forehead as they narrowly missed.

Air beat against his face and he realized it was more than the bear's movements causing the disturbance. With barely a whisper of sound a large shadow flew through the mouth of the cave on outstretched wings, large wings that tilted and pulled the glide into an attack. Legs were extended forward and wicked looking talons reached for the bear's head, sinking into the folds of skin on the back of his neck. The wings beat the air powerfully, pulling the bear backwards, and the skinwalker stumbled a step towards the mouth of the cave.

Sam's eyes widened with shock when a second shadow flew silently into view. The moonlight outside of the cave illuminated this one as it approached, and Sam could see the yellowish eyes of the great horned owl gleaming as it joined in the attack on the skinwalker. The second owl was slightly larger than the first, its wingspan a good five feet across. It swooped in a short arc and dug its talons into the solid muscle above the bear's right shoulder.

The bear went wild with anger, flipping its head from side to side and trying to bite at the birds on its back. Sam pressed back against the wall as far as he could as the massive paws sliced through the air in front of him in frantic arcs. The skinwalker seemed to be trying to either loosen the grip of his attackers or swat them away. His large body performed a shuffling dance, lurching from side to side and turning in little circles, snarling and grunting in rage. He came down on all fours facing out of the cave and Sam couldn't believe the sight of a third owl swooping out of the tree line.

Sam reached down and grabbed Dean under his armpits, lifting the top of his body off of the ground and hauling him farther into the cave, away from the skinwalker's slashing claws. He tried to block out how limp Dean felt as he struggled to walk backwards, dragging his brother with him. Dean's heels bumped over the uneven floor and for some reason the sight hit Sam hard. There was just something fundamentally wrong with his brother looking so helpless.

He laid Dean down gently when they were far enough into the cave and grabbed the rifle leaning against the wall. The grizzly was completely outside of the cave now, twirling like a mutant dog chasing its tail as it tried to grab the owls swooping around it. The owls were continuously striking at its head and the back of its neck and shoulders, sinking their talons in and then lifting off. Sam lifted the rifle to his shoulder and tried to sight on the bear, finally biting his lip in frustration. It was impossible to get a clear shot, there was just too much of a chance of hitting one of the owls. And if he did that and it drove the owls off…well, they were a hell of a lot more effective than any of the guns had been so far.

The waltz in the clearing continued for another minute before the bear shook its head mightily one last time and then crashed through the underbrush, disappearing into the trees. The owls broke off the attack as soon as the bear was past the tree line. They lifted into the air and the night grew still.

Sam dropped the rifle to his side. He lowered the butt to the ground and used the barrel like a cane, helping to support his weight as his legs began to tremble under him and he slid down to sit next to Dean. A wave of nausea washed over him as reaction set in and he fought not to lose the little he had in his stomach. He wiped a trembling hand down his face and took slow even breaths until his stomach settled. Dean needed him.

The strain of the past few days was visible on Dean's face in the light of the flashlight that was still on the ground where Dean had placed it before the first attack. His face was pale and drawn, lines of worry still marking the slack features. Sam reached a shaking hand forward, his fingers pressing into the soft warm skin under the side of Dean's jaw. He held his breath until he felt the strong and even thump of Dean's pulse under his fingers, and then he let it out in a rush, his chin sinking to his chest and his eyes sliding shut in relief for just a second before he began to check his brother's injuries.

He hesitated with a hand on Dean's hip and shoulder, but forced himself to continue. After dragging him across the floor it was a little too late to worry about spinal injuries. He rolled Dean onto his side and carefully slid the back of his T shirt up before grabbing the flashlight. A pattern of red marks showed where some spectacular bruises were going to bloom. Sam ran his hand over Dean's back, probing for painful spots, especially near the spine. There was no reaction to his touch. Hopefully that was a good sign. He gently pulled the T shirt down to cover the darkening bruises, feeling a surge of protectiveness towards his big brother. The events after Dean's electrocution were still too fresh in his mind. He couldn't lose his brother.

The knot was easy to find on the back of Dean's head. Feeling around that spot did elicit a grimace from the unconscious man and Sam took his hand away as soon as he was sure there was no bleeding. All he could do now was to try and make Dean comfortable and then wait for him to wake up. It would give his mind time to sort through everything that had just happened.

Sam sat back, the side of his mouth lowering in a scowl at the feel of moisture dripping down his own side. Oh yeah. When he saw what a mess Sam had made of the new bandage, Dean was definitely going to kill him. He was surprised when he realized just how much he was looking forward to those snarky admonishments.

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They had slept in some pretty bad hotel beds before, but this had to be the worst. Dean rolled onto his back and gave a soft yelp before quickly rolling back to his side. When precisely had someone hit the back of his head with a sledgehammer?

"You staying awake this time, Sleeping Beauty?" The concern in Sam's voice belied the nonchalant wording.

Dean opened his eyes slowly, blinking them a couple of times. He was laying on top of the sleeping bag, his brother sitting next to him with his back against the cave wall. The lantern was back on top of the stone block, throwing soft light over them. Oh yeah. Cave. Bear. Close Encounters of the Solid Rock Wall Kind. Guess that meant there was no coffee in this hotel.

"Here." A bottle of water appeared in front of his face, and then his brother's hand holding Tylenol.

"Thanks." Dean's voice was little more than a croak. He pushed himself into a sitting position and groaned at the pull of bruises all along his back. He was pleasantly surprised that even though he had a headache that could be measured on the Richter scale, there was no dizziness or nausea. He downed the Tylenol with a gulp of water before talking again. "First question: How long was I out?" he asked as he massaged his forehead.

"Which time?" Sam asked tiredly. "You were unconscious for a little while, just a few minutes really, came out of it long enough for me to get you settled here and make sure you weren't any weirder than usual, and then went to sleep. I checked you a couple of times and you seemed okay. You don't remember any of that?" Sam voice was edged with worry.

Dean started to shake his head in the negative and thought better of it when twinges in his neck reminded him of his Flying Wallenda act. He settled for a softy uttered "No."

"How are you feeling now?"

"Like Rocky after he got the shit beat out of him in the first movie."

"That's what you get for trying to ride a grizzly, you freak!'

Dean couldn't help himself, he started to grin. It was kind of awesome when you thought about it. Riding a freakin grizzly. He looked into Sam's glare and gave a little shrug. "Seemed like a good idea at the time," he said simply. He felt the lump on the back of his head as he looked around the cave. No dead skinwalker, his brother still seemed to have all his body parts… "Uh, Sam? What the hell happened? How'd you get rid of the fugly grizzly?"

"Well I didn't ride him out," Sam grumbled. Dean tried really hard not to start smiling again. He really tried. Sam just shook his head and dropped his forehead onto his bent knees, but not before Dean caught the look of relief that crossed his face at the sight of Dean's grin. Sam's voice was muffled when he continued. "I guess the sing in Arizona worked. Owls chased him away." Sam jerked his head up and to the side as soon as he felt Dean's fingers running across the back of his skull. "Dude! What the hell are you doing?"

"Checking to see if you hit YOUR head. It sounded like you said owls chased the bear away."

"I did." Sam dropped his head back to his knees. "Three great horned owls. One of the weirder things I've ever seen. And that's saying something."

"Why do you think it has to do with the sing?"

Sam looked up at him as though expecting to see a second head on Dean's shoulders. "You mean apart from the fact that we were saved by three HUGE FREAKING OWLS?" His head plopped back onto his knees. "Owls are considered messengers of the spirits by the Navajo, and a lot of Navajo consider them omens of death and misfortune. Basically they mean Betzgai has some serious witching working against him now. And he knows it. He went nuts when they showed up. Practically ran away."

"Has he come back?" As if on cue a series of low _hoos_ came from the trees to the right of the cave opening.

Sam lifted his head and pointed in the direction of the ledge above the mouth of the cave. "Wait for it…" An answering call came from the spot where Sam pointed. "And let's not forget…" He pointed to the trees to the left and a moment later the third set of calls came from that direction.

Dean raised his eyebrows and gave him a questioning look. "They've been doing that—"

"Every fifteen minutes for the last couple of hours," Sam finished wearily, his head thumping back onto his knees. "Betzgai hasn't come back."

Dean winced in sympathy. "Can't say I blame him," he muttered. He stretched his arms out and began to twist his back from side to side, trying to judge just how much damage his collision with the wall had caused. He was stiff and sore, but nothing out of the ordinary. Getting thrown into things wasn't exactly a novelty to him. Once the Tylenol kicked in and put a dent in the headache he'd be good to go. Which made one of them. He ran his eyes over the bedraggled and forlorn figure huddled in front of him.

The hours that Dean had spent 'out of it' hadn't been kind to his brother. Sam's head was still resting on his knees, shaggy hair hiding his face. His right arm was wrapped around his bent legs, but his left arm was clamped against his side. Dean realized he hadn't seen Sam move that arm yet.

He spotted the backpack on the other side of the cave and his stomach gave a low growl when he remembered the food stashed inside. Using the stone block next to him, he began to carefully push himself to his feet.

"Dean! What are you doing, man?" Sam was looking at him like he expected Dean to collapse in a dead faint at any second. "Sit down! What do you need?"

"Dude! Chill! I'm fine!" Dean tried not to sound annoyed. He knew Sam was worried about him, but he hated to be babied. Not that Sam looked like he was capable of doing any babying. He looked like death…unwarmed over. His skin was so pale that the myriad of bruises stood out in sharp relief. His eyes…hell, Dean had seen zombies whose eyes looked livelier.

Of course his stubbornness remained intact. Sam ignored Dean's reassurances and began to stand up, ready to get whatever Dean needed. His attempt to rise was short lived. He fell back against the wall and slowly slid down to land on his butt, a bemused expression on his face. "Okay, that worked well," he said softly.

Dean crouched next to him and put his hand on Sam's forehead, ignoring his brother's attempts to pull away. No fever that he could detect. He gently began to lift Sam's left arm and frowned with annoyance when he met resistance. "Damn it, Sammy! Let me see! Did he get to you before the cavalry flew in?" Dean went still for a second and then shook his head. "Man, that sounded weird."

Sam snorted but allowed Dean to lift his arm. "He didn't have to. I can't seem to handle the first freaking scratches he gave me." Bunched up gauze fell from under the black T shirt and Sam turned his face away. "Sorry. Couldn't manage to get it taped in place myself. I've been a hell of a lot of help on this hunt, huh?"

Dean ran his left hand over his face, finally resting it with his palm over his mouth, his eyes fixed on the bloody gauze that had fallen to the ground.

Sam must have taken his lack of response as agreement. He kept his face turned away from Dean and continued to talk in a voice so low and weary that Dean could barely hear him. "Maybe you're right that you'd be better off hunting without me. I'm a liability. Can't go back to school, though." His voice took on a dreamy quality, as though he was talking to himself. "This shit follows me. Betzgai made me see that. Look how Meg latched on to me and I delivered Dad. Can't go back. I already got Jess killed. If I go back more people will die because of me."

Dean's gaze had switched from the bloody bandages to the small slice he could see of his brother's turned away face. His eyebrows drew down in concern and his throat tightened at Sam's words. This was exhaustion and blood loss talking. It had to be. Sam couldn't really think any of this was his fault.

He put his hand on Sam's shoulder and began kneading the hard muscles, giving himself a second to make sure his voice would be under control. His hand moved to the back of Sam's neck and he leaned closer, bowing his head close to Sam's.

"Jesus, Sammy! You're such an ass!"

Sam's face turned towards him, his eyes widened in disbelief.

Dean sat back on his haunches and looked at him steadily. "First off, you gotta ignore yourself right now. I know this is gonna be tough for you, but don't take anything you're thinking too seriously." He gave a little grin but then his expression became deadly earnest. His voice cracked just slightly when he continued. "You've taken a beating over the last couple of days and you're starting to show signs of the blood loss. It's screwing with that geeky emo brain of yours. You think you're a liability? You jumped between me and a psychotic grizzly the size of a Mack truck a couple of hours ago." He shook his head with a scowl. "So first we're going to get you situated, and then we're going to talk." He said the last as though it was painful, but then his face brightened. "Better yet, I'm gonna talk and you're gonna listen."

'Situated' to Dean meant that his brother switched places with him on the sleeping bag and new bandages replaced the blood soaked top layers. The wounds didn't seem to be bleeding at that point, but that was only a small relief. Obviously stitches were needed to stop the bleeding for good, and in the meantime Dean would continue to worry. Without the rest and resources needed for the body to recover, even a slow bleed could turn into a huge problem.

Dean reached into the backpack and pulled out a prize he had been saving for the morning. He presented the foil juice pack to his brother with a flourish. "Apple juice." Sam accepted it with a tired but genuine smile and Dean threw a small plastic bag in front of him also. "Trail mix. Lady at the camp store said it was good. Has all that stuff in it you like. You know, the fruit and nuts and stuff."

Sam tore the bag open and poured a handful out before offering the bag to Dean. "You should eat some too."

"Nah, I'm good." Dean held up a stick of beef jerky with a smirk. He looked toward the front of the cave and the smirk faded. It was still pitch black out, but the first pale rays of dawn were approaching far too quickly.

"What aren't you telling me?"

Dean scowled at him. "What, you read minds now too?"

Sam matched him, scowl for scowl. "In your case it would be light reading. Spit it out."

"Alright, here's the deal. The fire jumped around a bit with all that wind the other day. This valley is back in its path and the winds are supposed to pick up today. When it gets a little lighter we've got to haul ass out of here before the fire takes out the whole valley."

"Then maybe we should just head out now, while things are still calm." Sam's words did not match the sound of his voice, which was papery thin and fading. Dean ran his gaze over his brother. Even in the dim light he could see the pallor to Sam's skin, the fatigue evident in every line of his body. His eyes were heavy lidded and blinking slowly.

Dean shook his head slightly. "No, it would be too easy for Betzgai to get the jump on us in the dark. Let's wait till we can see better. In the meantime, you should get some sleep." Sam was already sliding down on the sleeping bag and Dean held back a grin at how young his brother looked when he finally settled on his right side, his head pillowed by his arm.

"I thought you wanted to talk," Sam said drowsily.

Dean settled himself against the wall next to Sam. "Later. Right now you should sleep."

"Deeaan…" Dean hadn't heard that plaintive note in his brother's voice since he was a child. Sam attempted to glare at him, struggling mightily to keep his eyes open.

"Geez, Samantha! Aren't you a little too old to need a bedtime story?"

The ghost of a smile played over Sam's lips and Dean sighed. "Okay, but you just keep quiet and listen. I mean it Sam. This isn't going to be a Dr. Phil moment. I just need to get straight with you about a couple of things." He looked at Sam and waited until he got a small nod.

Dean looked at the ground for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He had created this mess, it was up to him to start cleaning it up. He took a deep breath and shifted his eyes to lock with Sam's, hoping his brother would see the truth on his face. "Look, that stuff you were saying before? About being a liability and me being better off hunting without you… You don't really believe that, do you? I mean, c'mon Sammy. You know that's bullshit, right?"

This time it was Sam's eyes that shifted to the ground and Dean grimaced. _Crap_. "Okay, listen. The other night when we had that argument and I said I thought you should go back to school..." Dean trailed off when Sam flinched at the words. "Christ Sam! There have been so damn many close calls lately! I didn't pull you away from Stanford to get you killed, but sometimes…sometimes it feels like we're on a runaway train and there's nothing I can do to stop it! Some protector, huh?" he broke off with a bitter laugh.

Sam opened his mouth to reply but Dean held his hand up. "Just let me finish. I said I wanted you to go back to school because I thought, maybe back at school you'd be safe."

"I don't think there is any such thing as safe anymore, Dean. Not till the demon that killed Mom and Jess is gone," Sam said quietly.

Dean ran his hand through his hair and stared at the mouth of the cave with a sad frown. "Yeah, I know, Sam. I was an idiot. Not only can't I protect you if you go back to school, but who the hell's going to watch my back? Who's gonna pull my ass out of the fire when I do things like go for a ride on Ungentle Ben?"

Sam smiled and Dean felt something loosen in his chest. "So I guess we should stay a team. We'll take things as they come. Yeah, this shining can make you a magnet sometimes. But I don't know, Sam. It could also save our ass someday too. You're worried some freak like Betzgai is gonna follow you? Join the club, dude. I've pissed off some pretty unforgiving things over the last few years. I think a couple of them are out looking for me. So for now I think we should keep things as they are. Keep watching each other's backs."

Sam shook his head and Dean's stomach dropped. "We can't keep things as they are, Dean. The constant arguments are killing us. I can't…I just don't have the energy to do that anymore. I can't do it. Something's gotta change." Sam's eyes closed, his words growing progressively softer until the last was barely a whisper.

"We'll figure something out, Sam. I promise you, we'll work something out."

Dean watched the remaining tension evaporate out of his brother's muscles as he finally allowed exhaustion to pull him under into sleep. He leaned his own head back against the wall and closed his eyes, grudgingly allowing himself a few minutes of calm before he started preparing for their escape from the valley.

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**A/N**: A little shorter than usual, but I wanted to resolve that cliffie while I had the chance. It's going to be another nuts weekend. This time it's a combination of family and the station that have swallowed my weekend. So it might be a bit longer than usual before the next update.

I was a little nervous about posting this chapter because I try not to let things get too 'out there'…snort like a guy changing into animals and two ghost hunting brothers isn't 'out there' already LOL…anyway, the owls are from lore and legend. And I kind of like them.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N**: Sorry it was a little longer between updates than usual. Things have been a trifle insane. I was going to wait until tomorrow to add this chapter...but a wise person just told me: "Don't put off until tomorrow what you can post today." LOL I apologize if anything seems 'off ' in this chapter, I'm still seriously fried from the last few days.

Your comments are overwhelming in their kindness and I love them all. Thank you so much for sticking with the story.

As always, all errors are mine.

**Warning:** There's a bit of cursing in this chapter. Amazingly enough, most of it isn't the boys this time.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine, no profits made, thanks for letting me play.

**From chapter 11**:

_Sam shook his head and Dean's stomach dropped. "We can't keep things as they are, Dean. The constant arguments are killing us. I can't…I just don't have the energy to do that anymore. I can't do it. Something's gotta change." Sam's eyes closed, his words growing progressively softer until the last was barely a whisper._

"_We'll figure something out, Sam. I promise you, we'll work something out."_

_Dean watched the remaining tension evaporate out of his brother's muscles as he finally allowed exhaustion to pull him under into sleep. He leaned his own head back against the wall and closed his eyes, grudgingly allowing himself a few minutes of calm before he started preparing for their escape from the valley._

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**Hozho Chapter 12**

A small gust of wind ruffled Dean's hair, evaporating the sweat on his forehead without cooling him off. The wind was hot and dry and carried the scent of burning brush. He glanced up at the light brown haze thickening in the sky above the valley and unconsciously increased his pace.

"Smoke's getting a little heavier," Sam said over his shoulder.

"I noticed," Dean answered sourly. "It wasn't supposed to get windy until lunchtime." He tightened the straps of Sam's backpack, wincing as it settled more snugly against the bruises on his back. It was heavy, loaded with their extra supplies and ammunition, the rifle strapped to the side. He had quickly vetoed Sam's plan to wear the pack. His brother hadn't even tried to argue the point. Not after Dean had threatened to shoot him if he touched it, anyway.

Dean looked at the valley around them and did a quick calculation. "It's less than two miles to the head of the Big Run and then we'll be climbing out of here. How you holding up?"

"I'm fine."

Gee, didn't see _that_ reply coming. He'd let Sam lead the way along the trail so that he could keep a close eye on him. The sleep had reenergized Sam, but his left arm was clamped tight against his side and his head was hanging, shaggy hair hiding his face as he walked. Dean only allowed him to carry the weapons he needed to protect himself, and even that little bit seemed to be weighing him down. The shotgun clasped in his right hand was bumping against his leg as he walked, and he didn't even seem to notice.

Dean missed the owls. Their periodic 'hooing' may have been annoying, but it had allowed him to breathe a little easier while Sam was sleeping. The owls had maintained their position as sentries until the brothers exited the cave and began the walk down to the Big Run. They had silently taken flight at that point, wheeling off into the sky. Watching them spiral out of sight was when Dean had first noticed the smoke beginning to filter across the sky above them.

The dry brush and trees covering the slopes on either side of them swayed in the increasing wind, winding Dean's worry up another notch. It was the uncertainty that had him in a cold sweat. They didn't know where the fire was, or what direction it was being pushed. Or exactly how quickly it was moving.

Sam stopped dead and held up his hand in an obvious request for silence. He swiveled in a slow circle, his eyes searching the sky in every direction, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration.

Dean couldn't help himself, he began to search the sky as well. He just had no idea what he was looking for. "Dude, what the—"

"Sssshh…There! Did you hear that?" There was a spark of excitement in Sam's eyes and Dean tilted his head, listening.

It took a moment, but then he heard it, almost hidden in the rustling of the trees. A low thumping sound, too rhythmic to be explained away as the wind. The sound gained strength the longer he listened.

"It's a helicopter," Sam said quietly, hope tingeing his voice and making him sound like a child who had just heard the bells of the ice cream truck.

Sam's arm shot out and he pointed to the north. A shape made indistinct by the drifting smoke came over the edge of the mountain and began to follow the line of the valley south. On its present course it would pass right over them. Sam allowed the shotgun to fall to the ground next to him and raised both arms to wave. He gave a sudden gasp of pain and dropped his left arm, pressing it against his side. His right arm stayed in the air and began to wave back and forth in wide arcs. Dean nudged the shotgun into the shadow of a bush with his foot and dropped the backpack to hide the rifle before raising his own arms to wave.

The helicopter took on detail as it came closer. White with a blue tail, it had a pointed nose and windows that looked too small in Dean's estimation. He had been hoping for one of those choppers with the huge bug eye bubble of glass on the front. The type of glass that would ensure the pilot would have to be blind not to see them. The deep thump of its rotors preceded it up the valley, gaining strength until Dean felt the rumble in his bones.

It swept over them, high enough that he couldn't even feel a wash of air from its rotors and his stomach sank. His arms dropped to his sides and he hung his head, working to hide his disappointment from Sam. His head shot up in surprise when Sam started to shout. He was about to tell his brother to save his breath when he saw the reason for Sam's enthusiasm. The helicopter had banked into a turn after passing over and was heading towards them again.

"DOWN HERE!! WE'RE DOWN HERE!" Sam's arm waved frantically and he was practically bouncing with excitement.

Dean knew he should point out to Sam that they couldn't hear him in the chopper, but he didn't have the heart to rein in his brother's delight. A huge grin found its way to Dean's face and he found himself waving his arms with just as much excitement as his brother. He consoled himself with the thought that at least HE wasn't shouting.

The helicopter dropped slightly in altitude as it came closer and the breeze pushed down by the thumping propellers sent the dead grass around their feet swirling lazily into the air. Dean could only imagine the maelstrom that would surround them if it descended any further. It circled and then hovered slightly east of them, giving them a clear view of an open doorway in the side of the chopper. A helmeted figure sat on the floor of the helicopter, their jumpsuit clad legs stretched out in front of them across the opening. Their right hand was fiddling with something near their mouth and Dean realized they were talking into a microphone attached to their helmet.

"HELP! WE NEED HELP DOWN HERE!" Geeeez…he was hanging around Sam too much. Now HE was shouting at helicopters.

A gust of wind moved down the mountain slope next to them, buffeting them far worse than anything from the helicopter. It carried the smell of burning wood with it and Dean glanced up the slope nervously. The helicopter was not immune to the wind, it rocked and slid sideways through the air for a second before the pilot regained control.

The gust of wind was a warning that the pilot couldn't ignore. The figure in the doorway gave the brothers a wave to make sure he had their attention and then pointed up the valley in the direction that they had been moving. He ended by sweeping his arm through the air several times in a 'move it along' gesture. He touched his hand to his helmet in a brief salute and then the chopper was lifting smoothly away from them, rising higher into the sky as it continued down the valley.

Sam's shoulders slumped as the chopper lifted away from them. Dean looked at the uneven surface of the valley around them as he donned the backpack. "You know they couldn't land here for us, right?" Dean spoke loudly to be heard over the retreating aircraft. If Sam answered Dean couldn't hear him, but he wasn't happy with the way his brother's head was hanging. "They know we're here now. They'll probably send somebody to pick us up." Dean nudged his brother with his arm and forced a grin. "Maybe they'll send another helicopter and then you can laugh at me when I'm afraid to climb in."

That earned a tired grin from Sam and Dean picked up the shotgun and handed it back to him. "C'mon, let's keep moving."

The sound of the helicopter faded away, replaced by the rattle of branches moving against each other as another gust of wind whipped around them. "They won't send another helicopter," Sam said quietly as he began to walk down the fire road. "They're all going to be grounded by this wind."

The gusts died down to a light breeze and Dean was amazed that a trick of the wind made it sound like there was music lilting on the air currents. Soft plaintive notes that spilled over each with an aching beauty.

Dean skidded to a stop and took a step back in surprise when Sam twirled suddenly. All traces of exhaustion were gone as his little brother smoothly swung the shotgun up into position, his right elbow braced against his hip. The pistol grip and short barrel made the gun easy to handle with one hand, and Sam took advantage of that by digging for the Beretta with his other hand.

"Whoa, Quick Draw!" Dean held up his hands in mock surrender. "What's up with you?"

Sam's face was set in stone, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like he could bite through steel. He faced into the wind, his eyes scanning the trees in back of them. "That's Betzgai," he finally bit out.

Dean looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Playing music? Dude, that's crazy…" He trailed off when Sam turned to him with one eyebrow raised and a sardonic smile. "Oh yeah. Right. So now the crazy son of a bitch is serenading us?" Sam didn't answer, he just turned his eyes back to the trees. "Man, this guy is getting on my nerves," Dean grumbled as he pulled his own Beretta from his waist.

Sam gestured towards the trees with the shotgun. "He's over there somewhere." He took a step in that direction, cocking his head to pinpoint the location of the music. The wind pushed the hair off of his face and he narrowed his eyes against the grit being thrown into the air.

The acrid smell of smoke was heavy in the wind, and Dean cleared his throat trying not to cough. He put his hand on Sam's arm and shook his head slightly. "We can't go after him now, Sam. We don't know where the fire is. If we don't keep moving Betzgai is gonna be the least of our problems."

"Dean, if he's playing the flute he's not in a skin. He's just a man. It's our best chance to get him."

The muscles of Sam's arm were like rock under Dean's hand and he clamped down harder when he felt Sam start to pull away from him. His brother's eyes remained fixed on the trees and Dean wasn't sure Sam was even hearing him. He stepped in close and began to talk in a low voice. "I know you want to go after him. Dude, I get it. I'd like nothing better than to turn the bastard into a bear skin rug. But if we go after him now we may not make it out of the valley. The smoke is getting heavier and the wind is getting stronger, and we don't know how close the damn fire is." He gave Sam a weak grin. "I gotta tell you, it's getting me a little nervous. I'd kind of like to get us both out of here before we end up extra crispy."

Sam's arm relaxed minutely under Dean's hand. He tore his eyes away from the trees and looked down at Dean, his expression full of pain. Dean was forcefully reminded that the skinwalker had singled Sam out, had stalked him, and had held him as a helpless captive for twenty-four hours. And chances were good that if all three of them escaped from the valley, he would continue to stalk them both.

Dean's own resolve began to weaken and he released his hold on Sam's arm with a resigned sigh. "Look, Sammy, you know how I feel about it, but it's your call. If you're determined to go after Betzgai now, then I'm with you."

Sam just stared at him for a moment before his eyes softened and he shook his head slowly. "No." He lowered the shotgun. "No, you're right. We should get out of here." He kept his eyes fixed on Dean's and the corners of his mouth turned up in the ghost of a smile. "And Dean…thanks, man," he said quietly. "You know…for having my back."

Dean shrugged and gave him a little smirk. "I kind of liked the idea of the bearskin rug."

With a soft snort Sam turned and began to walk away from the music. "Jerk," he said softly, nudging Dean with his shoulder as he passed.

"Bitch." Dean glanced at the woods with his eyes narrowed and the smirk faded to a momentary look of thin lipped anger before he turned and followed his brother. "Really, I hear chicks dig bearskin rugs…"

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The music faded away as soon as the brothers turned their backs and began to walk, and a chill ran down Sam's spine. Betzgai was watching them. If Dean hadn't stopped him he'd have walked right into another trap, and taken Dean with him. The cleared space on either side of the fire road was probably the only thing staying the skinwalker from making a direct attack.

Things would get riskier when they reached the point where the foot trail diverged from the old road. In more ways than one.

Dean might not have been familiar with wildfires, but Sam was. He had been incapable of living for over three years in a state that was prone to them without learning a few things. Their raw power and their tendency to restore a balance in nature that man had knocked askew fascinated him. He knew the way they could run before the wind, and he knew that when drought, wind, and topography came together just right wildfires could 'blow up', turning into rapidly expanding infernos that had been known to catch even the most experienced firefighters unawares. A friend at Stanford had covered many school expenses by working with contract wildfire crews during the summers. Sam had spent hours listening to his stories, putting a personal face on the news stories and web sites he read regularly.

He wiped his forearm across his face, wincing at the sharp pull in his side. He was doing his best to set a brutal pace and sweat was running into his eyes. Thirst gnawed at him, but he didn't want to take the time to stop and look for water. Each time the wind gusted he could feel the minutes sliced off of the time they had left. With the way the wind was pushing from the west, it seemed likely that the fire would crest Rockytop and then come down the slope towards them.

It would probably slow down a little after it came over the crest and began moving downhill, but slower or not, there wasn't a doubt in Sam's mind that the fire would make it to the valley floor. He eyed the stream and the width of the cleared areas on either side appraisingly. With a calmer fire they might have been safe in the center, but this one was turning into a monster. Embers raining down were sure to jump the fire over the stream and the radiant heat between the two fires would turn the narrow valley into an oven.

The ache in Sam's side was constant. He held his arm tight against his ribs trying to keep pressure against the bandage under his shirt. The shirt itself was growing increasingly damp and he didn't know if it was sweat or if the bleeding had started again. He didn't want to know.

He turned his head and spoke over his shoulder as he walked, struck by a sudden inspiration. "Hey, Dean, you've seen more of this valley than I have. Are there any cleared areas?" Sam was amazed at the effort it took to get the string of words out. He had to pause to take a couple of deep breaths before he could continue. "Like the area around the streams where we were last night, only, maybe, bigger?"

"No, the drainage basin where you dropped Betzgai on his ass is the only place I've seen like that. You thinking we could find someplace to hunker down and let the fire go around us? You think we should go back to the cave?"

Dean's voice seemed unaffected by the smoke settling into the air around them and Sam felt a brief flash of annoyance at the unfairness of it. Why was the smoke making him so short of breath and sparing Dean? He startled slightly when Dean's hand came to rest on his shoulder and he realized that he must have spaced out for a second.

"You with me here, Sammy? I asked if you thought—"

"Yeah, I heard you." Sam quickened his pace, moving out from under Dean's hand. "The cave is no good. In the middle of the trees—if the heat didn't kill us the smoke would. Maybe the drainage basin…" He lost whatever he was going to say when a wave of vertigo struck and he stumbled over a nonexistent obstruction on the fire road, the shotgun dropping from his hand. He would have gone down on his knees if a strong hand hadn't clamped onto his right arm, steadying him.

"Whoa! Easy there, Slick. You okay?"

"Yeah, just give me a second." He pulled from Dean's grasp as soon as he was sure he wasn't about to plant his face in the dirt and bent at the waist with his hand braced against his thigh, taking quick breaths while he waited for the dizziness to pass.

"Sammy, come on man, just sit down for minute."

Sam shook his head 'no'. If he sat down he was going to have a tough time getting back up. He ignored the sound of Dean's grumbling about his stubbornness, intent on watching the drops of sweat that fell from the ends of his hair. They created little pockmarks when they landed on the dry dirt in front of his feet and for some reason he was finding it fascinating. The show was interrupted when Dean's hand appeared in front of his face holding another foil pack of apple juice.

"I knew there was another one in there." Dean's hand on his shoulder gently helped him upright and then the juice was pressed into his right hand. "Drink."

Sam obliged his brother, sucking at the tiny straw until the foil bag was crumpled down to nothing in his hand. The juice was followed by a bottle of water. "Don't hoover this one. Small sips."

Dean picked up the shotgun and shoved it into the pack, his worried gaze never leaving his brother. "Just sit down for a minute, catch your breath," he urged.

"I'm already slowing us down too much," Sam said, fixing his eyes on Dean, "and you know it." He tilted his head back and took a long swallow of the water, not expecting any reply from his brother. Dean couldn't deny the truth of what he'd said. He recapped the bottle and then wiped the back of his hand shakily across his mouth. "We've got to keep moving, Dean. You know Betzgai's going to get ahead of us and try to stop us."

"He doesn't have to stop us. If he slows us down the fire will stop us," Dean said quietly. "My guess is he'll try to ambush us when we're on the foot trail. The brush is thick in sections and he'll be able to get close. And if the fire hits while we're on there…" Dean trailed off with a grimace and gave a little shrug.

"Do you think we should stay on the road?" Sam looked at Dean, his eyes wide, silently asking for Dean to take the lead. His own thoughts were getting dangerously fuzzy. He didn't trust himself to make the right choice.

Dean looked at Sam in indecision. His eyes went past Sam and he went still, the muscles in his jaw tense. "I think we'll decide when we get there," Dean said tightly.

Sam turned around, following his brother's line of sight, and ice formed in the pit of his stomach. Smoke was boiling over the crest of Rockytop in back of them, banking its way down the slope in a roiling brown mass. Flames weren't visible yet, but they wouldn't be far behind.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Things were simpler when they were children. When Sam was hurt, or afraid, Dean could scoop him up in his arms and make it all better. Chubby toddler arms would wrap around Dean's neck, a curly head would nestle against his cheek, and everything would be all right.

He remembered the feel of that warm weight in his arms, the unquestioning love and trust of little hands fisting in the shirt behind his neck and holding tight. He wished life could be that simple again.

Even if just for a little while.

He wished he could scoop his little brother up in his arms and run with him. Get him away from the danger, make him stop hurting, save him. The best he could do now was urge him to run faster. Support him when he stumbled.

A distant howl rose behind them as the fire crested the mountain. Dean glanced repeatedly over his shoulder but there was no way to see if the flames were starting to work their way down the slope. The smoke was a nearly solid mass banking down the mountainside, pushed by the increasingly gusty wind.

Sam's breath came in harsh gasps but he didn't utter a word about stopping to rest. Stubborn ass.

Dean slowed as they neared the spot where the hiking trail diverged from the old fire road, debating their choices. The fire road ascended just as steeply as the trail, but it was wider than the trail, making it harder for Betzgai to launch a surprise attack. The fire road, though, was an unknown quantity. It curved slightly around the mountain before meeting up with a newer, well maintained road, and without knowing the conditions around that curve they could be jumping from the frying pan literally into the fire.

They stopped in front of the trail and Sam bent over, breathing hard. "You with me here, Sam?" Dean gasped out, fighting to catch his own breath.

"Yeah, I'm good." Dean snorted at the obvious lie and Sam straightened up slightly, trying to square his shoulders. "Really, I'm good," he mumbled, his voice rough with exhaustion.

Dean just didn't have the energy to bust on his brother about the slight whine that was starting to tinge his voice. Sweat ran freely down the older hunter's face and he wished he could just drop the backpack. It was like a lead weight biting into his shoulders. There was no getting rid of the pack, though. They would be helpless without the supplies and ammo it held.

The wind blew hot and dry against Dean's back, giving weight to the little voice that urged him to make a decision and keep moving. If he made the wrong choice, though, there would be no turning back. Sam was nearing the end of his endurance and Dean was feeling every hour of missed sleep, every bump, bruise, and scrape that he had suffered over the past few days. Around him the day fell into a false twilight as the growing thunderhead of smoke over the valley edged across the sun.

"Dean?" Sam straightened up completely, his posture stiff, wary. "Betzgai is here somewhere. I can feel him watching us."

Dean didn't question how it was possible for his brother to sense the skinwalker's presence. It didn't pay to think about some things too closely. Not if you wanted to sleep at night. He turned away from the hiking trail and set a quick pace up the fire road. Between the fire and the skinwalker, the hiking trail would have been a death trap. They would have to just take their chances with what lay around the bend in the road. God knew they were due to catch a break.

It didn't take long before the fire road began its own climb out of the valley. The increasingly steep slope mocked them, promising an escape from the doomed valley at the same time it made them fight for every step they took. The incline took its toll on Sam and he began to falter, finally, grudgingly, accepting his brother's help. Dean wrapped his arm around Sam's waist, grasping the top of his pants, as Sam rested his arm over Dean's shoulders with a mumbled apology.

Dean's head pounded from the strain, and he began to focus on just putting one foot in front of the other. He didn't know how Sam was still on his feet. Every time his brother stumbled Dean's heart leapt into his throat and he silently willed Sam to hang on, just make it a little farther. Because when his brother went down, they were done. Dean had no illusions about being able to carry the younger man to safety. And leaving him was not, and would never be, an option. Whenever he could spare the breath he whispered soft words of encouragement, assuring Sam that they were almost there, that they were doing fine. The point where the road curved around the mountain was visible in front of them. It beckoned with the promise that once they reached the newer road the going would be easier. They would be home free. It might have been a false hope, but Dean clung to it.

Something crashed through the underbrush in the woods up the slope to their right and Dean swung his head to stare in that direction. He released the grip he had on Sam's right wrist and his brother's arm started to slide off of its perch on Dean's shoulders. "I need you to hold on to me Sammy, okay?" he said quietly as he pulled the Beretta free. Sam didn't answer but his arm halted its downward slide and his head lifted, cocking to the side as though he was listening. It could have been a deer fleeing the fire…but Dean didn't think so.

Sam's breathing quieted and Dean felt his brother's muscles tense as a jolt of adrenalin kicked in. "It's him." The words were so soft Dean barely heard them, just a whisper breathed out on a soft puff of air. Sam dropped his arm off of Dean and took a step away. He pulled out his own gun and held it hanging at his side.

The noise in the trees stopped abruptly and the brothers glanced at each other in silent communication. They stepped farther apart and Dean slid the backpack to the ground by his leg. His left hand hovered over the top of the bag, ready to pull the shotgun out as well. If the skinwalker was starting to stalk through the trees towards them, they couldn't hear it. The wind whistled around them, bringing the dry branches and leaves above them to noisy life. Over it all, the muted roar of the fire grew behind them.

Dean's nerves pulled taut as the moment stretched. He tightened his grasp on the Beretta as sweat made the grip slick. He swung the gun up in a short arc, his breath catching in his throat when the sound of something crashing through the underbrush suddenly started again. The brothers shared another glance, but this one was filled with confusion.

"What the hell?" Dean wondered, his hand dropping back to his side. "Maybe it wasn't him?"

"It was him," Sam replied with quiet assurance. "But where the hell is he going?"

The noises were receding as the creature continued running, heading away from them.

"Dean." Sam's voice was tired and defeated. He lifted his arm and pointed, and Dean's stomach sank.

"Oh crap." Looked like he had made the wrong choice back at the intersection. A cloud of brown smoke was making its way around the curve in front of them. Dean's eyes narrowed as he looked at the smoke. It was low to the ground, not being separated and thinned by the wind like the smoke in back of them. He looked at his brother to see if Sam was noticing the same thing. Sam wasn't noticing anything. He was standing with his shoulders slumped, his head hanging.

"Sam," Dean began tentatively. A throaty rumble grew louder by the second and Dean looked back at the approaching brown cloud. An angular shape was emerging from the billowing dirt…_DIRT not SMOKE_. The shape morphed into a heavy red pickup with a cage of welded metal protecting the front grill and headlights. "Sammy!" Dean met his brother's confused look with a huge grin. "Our taxi is here!"

The pickup roared towards them and Dean reached an arm out to usher Sam to the edge of the road next to him. The truck's driver seemed prepared to bowl them over if they were in the way. Both Berettas were carefully stashed out of sight and Dean took advantage of the dirt obscuring the driver's vision to unstrap the rifle from the side of the pack and slide it under a bush next to them. Safe passage out of this hellhole was worth the price of the rifle.

The truck came to an abrupt halt in front of them. It would have made an impressive skid mark on pavement, on the loose surface of the fire road it arrived in a shower of dirt. It was a Ford F350, obviously modified for use at wildland fires. In addition to the metal framework protecting the front, there was a small lightbar on the roof, and the back was fitted with a 'utility box', a variety of compartments along the sides of the truck with the doors facing out. There was some type of government emblem with a tree in the middle of it on the door. Dean didn't bother trying to decipher the agency initials before he yanked the door open.

The middle-aged woman sitting behind the wheel was garbed in what appeared to be standard wildland issue: dark green pants, a long sleeve yellow shirt, leather lace up boots, and a red bandana knotted around her neck. Her long brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she glared at them from under the brim of a dark green baseball cap.

"Get your god damned asses into the god damned truck-- NOW!" she roared at them.

Dean smirked at Sam and gestured at the bench seat. "After you, Samantha."

His brother scowled at him from under sweat drenched bangs and Dean had the sudden urge to laugh. It wasn't all that funny, it just felt like he could breathe again now that worry for his brother was lifting from his shoulders. As soon as they made it back to the Impala Dean was throwing his brother right into the car and getting him to the nearest hospital. It was going to be okay.

Dean put a hand on Sam's elbow and steadied him as he climbed into the truck. Sam slid across the bench seat with a grimace and Dean raised a foot to climb in after him.

The driver took her right hand off of the wheel and pointed at the backpack. "How 'bout you throw that in the back," she said gruffly, hooking a thumb towards the truck's bed.

"How about I don't?" Dean climbed in without waiting for an answer, resting the pack on his lap. It was a little crowded with the three of them on the seat. Sam was sitting at an angle, his legs pushed to the side by a center console that held an impressive array of switches and dials. It was topped by a built in two-way radio.

"Suit yourself." She threw the truck into gear and hit the gas as Dean was reaching to shut the door. He drew his hand back hurriedly when the door slammed shut on its own. A glare at the driver earned him an amused smile in return. "When I tell you to move your ass, you need to move your ass," she said sweetly before dropping the grin and replacing it with a scowl. "You mind telling me what the hell you pinheaded doobersnarks are even doing out here? Big fire? Closed trails? Ringing any bells here, boys?"

"We didn't—" The driver snapped her hand up palm outward, demanding silence, and Dean's mouth snapped shut. She had reached a slightly wider section of the road and pulled to the side. She kept the motor running as she grabbed the microphone of the two way radio and thumbed a button on the side.

Sam looked at him with his eyebrows raised. "pinheaded doobersnarks?" he mouthed silently, his lips curving up in a slight grin. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the sliding glass window behind them with the smile still in place. Dean felt something within him start to relax at the sight.

"Div C ops from Lookout 4." She lifted her thumb and reached over to play with the volume button on the radio.

The soft hiss of static preceded the tinny reply. _"Lookout 4, go ahead."_

"I've got 'em. I'm heading out. What's she looking like?"

"_Div D is reporting the head is over Rockytop. She's backing down the slope. Right flank is creeping toward the line. Unless the wind gets freaky it should hold there. Just get them back to base and then check in with me. I'm gonna need you in a new position. She's making a run on the left flank and Ops is getting nervous about her spotting over the line."_

"Received. I'm on my way." She replaced the microphone in its cradle and allowed the truck to roll forward. She immediately jerked the wheel to the side, sending the nose of the truck sharply to the left as she executed a hasty K turn. The movement slid Dean into the door and he threw his arm up to hold Sam in place. Sam gave a soft groan and grabbed onto Dean's arm when the sudden movement jarred him. His fingers bit into Dean's flesh as he rode out a wave of pain, and Dean resumed glaring at the driver.

The driver took the tableau in with a quick glance and her expression softened. "What's up with your buddy? He don't look too good."

Dean spared her a quick frown but kept his attention on his brother. Sam's fingers were loosening their death grip on his arm and Sam opened his eyes, blinking slowly at him. "She drives like you," he said with a shaky smile.

"Dude, nobody drives like me." He gave Sam a questioning look. "You okay, Sammy?" he asked softly. Sam nodded and released Dean's arm completely. Dean patted his chest softly before pulling his arm back and rubbing his hand over his own face tiredly. He rested his arm over the backpack on his lap and turned his attention to the driver. "You heard about that cougar that killed the horses?"

She kept her eyes on the road in front of them but gave him a choppy nod.

"Well, my brother had a little run in with him."

Her eyes widened and she glanced at Sam before looking at Dean. "No shit?"

"No shit," Dean confirmed.

"He hurt bad?" She nodded her head at Sam.

"HE has a name," Sam broke in tiredly. "It's Sam."

"I'm Deb. Sorry if I was being ignorant. It's been a crazy day. You know we got a red flag warning, right?"

Dean looked at Sam, waiting for him to reply, but Sam had closed his eyes again. He was pale, sweat glistening on his face. "Uh, yeah. That's because of the winds, right?" Dean finally answered. He reached over and wrapped his hand around Sam's wrist.

Sam's eyes flew open and he yanked his arm out of Dean's grasp. "Dean, I'm fine," he said, annoyed.

In the brief moment that Dean had felt Sam's pulse it had felt too fast, and he silently willed Deb's foot to go a little heavier on the accelerator. She had slowed down when she realized that the truck's sudden movements were hurting Sam. They were just reaching the curve that had beckoned so enticingly to the boys.

"So listen, Dean," she started, obviously having caught Sam's use of his name "If anybody asks, I picked you up when you got to Madison Run Road, okay? That's the real fire road that this piece of crap road meets up with. Okay? It's right up there." She flicked her hand as they eased around the curve, indicating the intersection that they were approaching. The truck's speed had dropped to a crawl. The fire crews had not made it to this section of the old road, and it was impressively bumpy and uneven. Deb ducked her head and gave him an embarrassed grin. "They sent me there when I got relieved from my lookout post. I was supposed to stage up there and wait for you to make it to me. I got a little bored waiting so I figured I'd come just a little ways looking for you." She nodded her head at Sam. "Good thing, huh?"

Dean remembered the weight of Sam's arm over his shoulder and nodded in agreement. It was probably the sound of the approaching truck that had deterred Betzgai from attacking.

"So, I gotta ask, where'd you meet up with the cat? I mean, I'm not worried about the crews, they got over twenty people in 'em with some hefty tools. But a lot of the lookouts are alone. Should I be putting a warning out to them?"

"It happened the night before last. I don't know where the cougar is now. But your lookouts have a bigger prob—"

Deb did a double take and interrupted him. "Night before last?! Then why the hell were you still—"

At first Dean thought the truck must have hit a large rock in the road. That could explain the loud _crack_ and the way Deb jerked the wheel. Sam's eyes popped open and he darted looks around the inside of the cab searching for the source of the noise. Both brothers spotted it at the same time. There was a small hole in the upper left corner of the windshield, small cracks radiating out from it in a starburst pattern.

Deb held the steering wheel in a white knuckled grip and the truck began to slow down. "What the—" A second crack was followed by a closer and more ominous thud. Dean could see the new hole punched into the truck's hood. He grabbed Sam's shoulder and forced his brother into a bent over position so that he would be partially protected by the dashboard. He leaned over, placing his own body over Sam's. The shooter was in front of them, somewhere near the Madison Run Road intersection.

The truck lurched forward when Deb switched her foot from the brake to the gas. She swerved to the right to give them a little more clearance and then sent them into a sliding U-turn to the left. There was a thud against the side of the truck close to Dean's door and he tensed, waiting to feel the burn of a bullet. Sam began to push against him. His breath was coming in short pants and Dean knew the position had to be incredibly painful. Dean pressed his face into the back of Sam's shoulder to quiet him. "Sammy, you've got to stay down man. Just hold on." In the back of his mind he was dismayed at how easy it was to hold his large, strong, brother in the awkward position.

The truck went off of the road but Deb didn't stop. The metal welded to the front allowed the powerful truck to push through the brush, smashing right through small saplings. They bounced wildly as they moved forward and the sound of cracking wood and branches screeching along the sides of the truck filled the cab. Joined by another screeching.

"SOMEBODY'S SHOOTING AT US?!!" The truck roared back onto the road and slewed sideways, almost going off the other side before she got it under control. Dean understood why she had driven this section slowly just a few minutes ago. At this speed the front of the truck was lifting off from every rut they hit, landing hard on the other side. Sam groaned miserably under him and Dean rested his hand on top of his brother's shaggy hair, helpless to make it less painful. A spray of dirt flew out behind the truck as it slid back around the curve, taking them out of the immediate line of fire.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Betzgai lowered the rifle from his shoulder. He was ashamed that he had been forced to use a weapon of the _biligaana_, but he was desperate. The power held by the brother hunters was his last chance to return to his home. It would make him strong. It would restore him. Already the witching of the _hataali_ was taking its toll. His side and face were marked by oozing pockmarks and raw skin, reminders of the shotgun pellets that had peppered him the night before. A streak of red showed the path of the brothers' bullet and blood still trickled from gashes on his head and neck, angry wounds inflicted by the _né´ éshjaa_´ sent by the _hataali_.

It was not a surprise to find his truck disabled after he left the cave. It was inevitable that this must end in the valley. He had retrieved the powerful rifle from inside of the locked metal box and carried it south to the mouth of the valley. He was not worried that the brother hunters would attempt to escape to the north when they left the cave. They would travel the route that they knew, they would come south. The rifle was left hidden there with the skins of two of his brothers while he stalked the hunters. He had watched them, hoping for a chance to attack before he was forced to settle on his perch and take up the rifle.

He laid the rifle down on the ground at his feet with a grimace of distaste. It had served its purpose, herding his quarry in the direction he chose. His final shots had been aimed at the wide tires of their vehicle. It would not take them far.

Betzgai kneeled on the ground in front of his three brothers. He ran his fingers over their soft fur and smiled sadly. Only one would join him in this fight. The other two would be freed. This would end in the valley, surrounded by fire. If he defeated the brother hunters their power would make him whole again. S_hila-moasi_ was mighty and swift, his legs would carry Betzgai out of the valley and he would emerge from the fire cleansed and victorious.

If he did not defeat the brother hunters, then he would die. But either way, the hunters would not survive. Their lives would pay for what they had cost him, and balance—harmony—would return. _Hozho_ would be restored.

He picked up the battered metal can he had left on the ground near the pelts. The liquid inside sloshed from side to side and gasoline fumes spread through the air around him.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**A/N**: No, Deb is not me. LOL Although I have been in one of our brush trucks when it's mowing through shrubs and trees…and it's better than a Disney ride. I am not a wildland firefighter, but I have friends who are. They are a crazy, adventurous, hard working bunch and I respect and admire them greatly.

Maygin, thank you for giving me the term 'pinheaded doobersnarks'. It still makes me laugh.

_biligaana_ – Caucasians, non-Navajo

S_hilah _Navajo name meaning 'brother'. There is no literal translation of the word 'brother' itself.

_Moasi _cat

_hataali_ Navajo religious singer, ceremonial singer, healer

_né´ éshjaa_´ owl


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N**: This is a shorter chapter than usual. In case you start wondering how Deb's radio is managing to work in the valley-- at many large wildfires they will set up portable repeaters in strategic locations. These 'devices' boost radio signals to allow communications between all the nooks and crannies of the landscape. Good communications is essential to the safety of the firefighters.

To my PITA—this chapter is dedicated to you, bud. Once promised, never forgotten, I will always have your back. And I'm counting on you to use those celestial powers to always have mine. I miss you.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine, no profits made, thanks for letting me play.

**From chapter 12**:

_The truck went off of the road but Deb didn't stop. The metal welded to the front allowed the powerful truck to push through the brush, smashing right through small saplings. They bounced wildly as they moved forward and the sound of cracking wood and branches screeching along the sides of the truck filled the cab. Joined by another screeching._

"_SOMEBODY'S SHOOTING AT US?!!" The truck roared back onto the road and slewed sideways, almost going off the other side before she got it under control. Dean understood why she had driven this section slowly just a few minutes ago. At this speed the front of the truck was lifting off from every rut they hit, landing hard on the other side. Sam groaned miserably under him and Dean rested his hand on top of his brother's shaggy hair, helpless to make it less painful. A spray of dirt flew out behind the truck as it slid back around the curve, taking them out of the immediate line of fire._

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**Hozho Chapter 13**

A heavy fist thumped Dean on the back. "Something you want to tell me?" Deb growled. "LIKE WHY THE HELL SOMEONE IS SHOOTING AT US?!" She grabbed the microphone again and mashed down on the button. "Division C Ops from Lookout 4! Priority!"

"_Go ahead 4."_

"I had to turn around and head into the valley! Someone's taking pot shots at us!"

There was a moment of silence before a confused voice came back over the radio. _"Repeat your last transmission, 4. There are no hotshots assigned to the valley."_

Deb spoke through gritted teeth. "Not hotshots, POTSHOTS! Someone is shooting at us!"

Dean lifted his head cautiously while Deb answered the stunned Division head's questions. He was relieved to be beyond the reach of Betzgai's bullets, and incredibly frustrated to once again be facing the smoke filled valley. "Dude, get off!" Sam said through clenched teeth, using his elbows to punctuate each word. Dean hastily sat up and reached a hand out to help his brother.

Sam started to push himself up and drew in a sharp breath. His left hand went to his side and he began to slump forward. "Whoa! Hold on Camille! No passing out on me." Dean grabbed his shoulders and eased him upright. "Easy does it."

Deb dropped her hand into her lap still holding the microphone and turned to look at them with thinly veiled suspicion. "Care to tell me what's going on? Was that a friend of yours?"

Dean patted Sam's cheek gently, making sure his brother was focusing, before he turned his attention to the firefighter. His face morphed from concern to frustrated anger, his eyebrows drawing down and his mouth flattening into an angry line. The woman across from him drew back slightly. She jumped when he punched the door next to him with the side of his hand. "That's the reason we haven't been able to get Sam to a hospital," he bit out.

"We don't know who the hell he is. He found us after Sam got hurt. We thought 'Great! Help is here!' Some help." Dean shook his head and laughed ruefully. "He's a lunatic. About five beers short of a sixpack." Dean laid it on thick, sincerity oozing out of every pore. "He held us in a cave in the valley, ranting about Indian legends." Their father had always taught them to stay close to the truth when possible, especially when there was physical evidence that could bite you on the ass. There was no guarantee the fire would destroy the things they had left stashed near the cave. "We got away this morning when he left the cave. For all we knew the fire scared him out of the valley."

Deb's eyes still searched his face. "Any reason you didn't tell me this when I picked you up? A little, 'by-the-way, a guy who's nuttier than male brownies might be after us'?"

An exceedingly simple and easily foreseeable question, but days of strain were taking their toll. He could spin a tale that satisfied experienced investigators without breaking a sweat, but Dean's mind just didn't want to cooperate and he looked at her blankly.

"He tried. You kept interrupting him. Hasn't been much time to chat." Sam's voice was a low croak, made eminently believable by the obvious pain and exhaustion weighting every word. For the first time Deb's eyes really examined the young man and Dean held his breath. The suspicious woman's cooperation would make things a lot easier.

It was hard mistaking the damp patches on the side of Sam's black T shirt for anything other than what they were, especially when the once white bandage around his right forearm now bore mottled patches of brown and red. Sam leaned his head back against the window behind him with a tired sigh, exposing the long line of his throat. Deb winced at the vivid bruises on his neck and jaw, and her eyes flew to meet Dean's.

"He took Sam first. It took me a while to find them in the cave," he said softly. "He had Sam tied up by then, and…" His voice cracked slightly and he looked away for a moment, clearing his throat before he looked back at her. "He got the jump on me when I got there. Held a gun on me for a while and then just bashed me over the head." He touched the lump on the back of his head with a grimace. "When I woke up he wasn't there."

Her gaze finally settled on Sam's wrists. The skin around both was chafed and raw, testament to the bonds that had held him.

Dean could see the doubt melt off of the woman's face. "What do we do now? Is there a way around that spot?" Dean asked. His face hardened. "I'm not letting that bastard get his hands on my brother again."

"No. The valley funnels through there. This guy," she indicated the radio, "is letting Command know what's going on. They'll see if they can get some cops up here to take this guy out."

"How long is that gonna take?" Dean asked in exasperation. "And what are we supposed to do in the meantime, just sit here?" The backpack was heavy against his leg where it had landed when he shoved it off of his lap. Sam didn't have the time for them to just sit and wait. Dean had the weapons, he knew who he was looking for…

Deb stared through the windshield, biting her lip in indecision. The smoke was a light fog chased through the valley by the wind. The occasional pockets of heavy smoke were becoming more frequent, growing larger and denser. "No. We don't sit and wait. By the time they can get the police up here the fire is going to be too close." She brought the microphone to her mouth in a quick gesture. "Division C Ops from Lookout 4."

"_Go ahead, 4."_

"It's gonna get a little hot sitting where we're at. How are we looking if I try to run the road out the other way?"

"_Hold on, I've already asked command for the latest sit reps to see if we can get you out of there a different way."_

"Received." She stared out the windshield lost in thought.

"Well?" Dean prompted impatiently.

"Louie, the guy I'm talking to, is getting the latest situation reports from the command post. They can't get any exact info with all the birds grounded, but we've got lookouts on a lot of the hills who can see parts of the fire, and what they can't see they can make educated guesses about from the smoke plumes." She looked at Sam and worry flitted across her face. The young hunter's eyes were closed and his skin glistened with sweat.

"But an educated guess is still just a guess, right?" Dean pushed. His hand crept towards the extra ammo and the shotgun in the pack. If the Madison Run Road was the only way out that wasn't threatened by fire, then he had no choice but to go after Betzgai himself and clear the way. Having no choice wouldn't make it any easier to leave his brother, though. He stilled his hand when the radio came to life with a burst of static.

"_Lookout 4?"_

"Go ahead, Louie."

"_Negative on going out the other way. She's still backing down the slope between you and the basin, but she's flaring up north of the basin, showing extreme behavior. She's already jumped the water. There's no—"_

A lead weight settled into Dean's stomach. That was that. They couldn't get out the other way. He reached for the backpack but stopped when the Division head's voice broke off. Louie's mike was still transmitting but the noises coming across it were too muffled to make out, as though the man was holding it against his leg while he spoke to someone next to him. Dean couldn't make out what was being said, just the staccato firing of an excited voice and the low rumble of Louie asking questions.

"_Lookout 4, we've got a situation here."_ Where the man's voice had been concerned but still calm before, it now vibrated with stress. He knew Deb heard the difference as well. She stiffened and her eyes locked on the radio, as though waiting for a snake to come out of it and strike.

"Go ahead."

"_There's a new smoke plume. It's located near Madison Road and growing fast. Doubtful it's a spot fire. Command is sending strike teams there to try and knock it down. You are in danger of a burnover in your current position! Repeat. Danger of burnover in your current position._"

"Crap!" Deb said viciously. She actually sounded more angry than scared. The utility box on the back of the truck blocked any view through the window behind their heads. In moves that were so symmetrical they looked choreographed, both Deb and Dean opened their doors and hung their heads out to look at the road in back of them. It only took a quick glance before they were both pulling their heads back inside and slamming the doors. Deb threw the truck into gear and began to roar away from the brown smoke that was billowing around the curve behind them.

"Where the hell did THAT come from?' Dean was trying hard not to let panic tinge his voice. He held his arm against Sam's chest, anchoring his brother in place as the truck bounced around on the rough road.

Sam lifted his head off of the window and looked around in confusion, blinking blearily. "Dean…wha…?"

"Your lunatic buddy must like to play with matches," Deb answered. She lifted the microphone, keeping her other hand on the steering wheel in a white knuckled grip as they barreled forward. "Div C, did the IA crews complete the safety zone in quadrant 2 before they were pulled?"

Dean braced his right hand against the dashboard and worked on making sure his brother was awake while they waited for the answer. Sam was looking at him, but it was tough to tell how focused he was.

"_Affirmative 4. Do you need the coordinates?"_

"Negative. I know where it is. I'm proceeding there now."

"_Received 4. Be safe."_

"Will we need shelters?" Sam's question made Dean's stomach drop. It wasn't a good sign when his brother stopped making sense.

Deb shot Sam a surprised look. "No, the safety zone should be enough with the flame lengths we've been seeing. Besides, it's a boulder field. No way to deploy there."

Sam gave her a weak grin. "Good. I've heard about them but never particularly wanted to use one." Dean breathed a little easier. At least Sam was making sense to somebody.

"We'll have to carry shelters just in case…and we're gonna have to run to the safety zone. Can you handle that?" The question was brutal in its simplicity and Dean felt his hackles rise.

"Don't worry about my brother, lady. I'll make sure he gets to where he needs to go."

"It's okay, Dean," Sam said softly. "She had to ask."

"Did the Looney Toon have a car?" Deb questioned. She kept her eyes glued to the road in front of them and spoke through clenched teeth.

"He did," Sam chuckled softly. "Dean found it before he found the cave. Flattened the tires."

Deb grinned with grim satisfaction. "Then we shouldn't have to worry about him. That fire would have taken off as soon as he lit it. A person can't run fast enough to get away from something like that."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Dean muttered under his breath, exchanging a glance with his brother. He looked at the mass of brown smoke in their path and swallowed down a surge of panic. "So what's the plan?"

"Fire crews establish safety zones when they're working. A place they can run to if things go bad. It should be big enough to protect them even if they're surrounded by fire. I'm gonna get us as close to one of them as I can and then we're going to have to run."

"Hell of a plan," Dean said dryly.

"That's best case," Deb grunted, ignoring his sarcasm. "Worst case is I can't get close and then we pick a section of the stream bed and you get a two second lesson on shelter deployment."

"Oh."

"Yeah. 'Oh'. Either way, you two are gonna have to do what I say, when I say it. And we're gonna have to haul ass."

The brothers exchanged a longer look this time, Dean silently asking his brother if he was up to it. Sam straightened up in the seat and answered Dean's question with a steady and determined look. Dean gave him a quick nod in acknowledgement. A surge of pride went through Dean and he looked away, blinking his eyes. Damn smoke was getting to him again.

"If you're the prayin' type now would be a good time," Deb said gruffly.

The smoke was thickening around the outside of the truck as they got deeper into the valley, cutting their visibility down to almost nothing. Flickers of orange were becoming visible off to their left, growing brighter and higher with each second that passed. The roar that had been muted at a distance filled the air around them. It sounded like a platoon of freight trains was bearing down on them.

"We have to make it through where the valley narrows," she explained as an afterthought.

It was dark inside the truck, the smoke throwing a blanket over them. It pressed in on them closer and closer, a choking brown mass that seemed intent on stopping them. Dean wasn't sure how Deb was managing to keep them on the old fire road. He was sure his fingers were going to leave dents on the dashboard, he was gripping it so tightly.

"Jesus," he breathed out softly. His mouth went dry and his heart skipped a beat at the sight before him.

A trick of the wind lifted most of the smoke from in front of them, channeling it up into the convection column rising from the monster they faced. The fire on Rockytop had reached the edge of the cleared area left by the fire crews. It was consuming the trees there with a ferocity that took Dean's breath away. It was a roiling, living creature. Brilliant oranges and reds and yellows that sheathed the trees and joined to form a mass of fire that boiled in the sky for dozens of feet above the treetops. Smoke so dark it almost looked black billowed above it, rising to form a thick thundercloud in the sky. The underside of the smoke cloud was painted an eerie red, reflecting the face of the fire.

It was beautiful. And powerful. And terrifying.

And they were heading right towards it.

He tore his eyes away from the massive fire to look at his brother. Sam's eyes were wide and his throat was working as though he was swallowing convulsively. His face was painted orange by the firelight. Sam turned to face Dean as though he could feel his brother's gaze on him. "Got any marshmallows?" he croaked out with a strained smile.

Dean returned the same weak smile. "Bitch," he mouthed softly.

The fire was contained to the left side of the clearing so far. Fingers of flame licked at the ground in front of them, occasionally joined by solid sheets of fire that dipped down from the fireball to curtain the road.

"Hold on fellas, we've got to get past that."

Deb's foot pressed down on the accelerator and the truck surged forward. Dean braced his foot against the floor, unconsciously pushing himself back into the seat as though to avoid the flames. He felt like he was on a rollercoaster into the maw of hell, the fire growing until it seemed to fill the windshield. Sweat began to trickle into his eyes, more from panic than increased heat in the cab. He still held an arm across Sam's chest and he could feel Sam's heart thudding wildly through the thin material of the Tshirt.

And then they were in the middle of it. Flames surged against Deb's window and the roar of the fire made it seem as though the air itself was bellowing in pain. Dean's hand flew up in front of his face when a rope of fire lashed across the front hood of the truck. The increasing assault proved too much for the trees on the right side of the road and they exploded into flame. Dean found himself jumping away from his window, pressing against his brother.

The flames didn't dance or flicker merrily, they beat at the air in a storm of fire. They were fierce and hungry, raw power packaged in heat and light, and ready to consume everything in their path.

As quickly as they had entered the fire, they were out of it. The flames fell away behind them and they were left with swirling smoke around the cab.

It took Dean three tries before he could get any sound come out of his mouth. "Well, that can't have been good for the paintjob," he finally said shakily.

Sam looked shell shocked, staring out the windshield with his eyes wide. He turned his head slowly and looked at Dean as a small smile started to pull at his lips.

A strangled noise pulled their attention to the truck's driver. Her mouth was working but the only sounds coming out were little squeaks. Sam touched her arm tentatively and she drew in a gasp of air, letting it out in an explosion of sound.

"WELL HOLY GOD DAMN!!!! THAT WAS FREAKIN AMAZING!!!"

Sam tilted his head back and laughed and Dean was powerless to stop the huge grin that curved his lips.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**A/N**: Something very similar to this actually happened to my best friend when he was at a wildfire in Montana a few years ago. And knowing him, I'm sure his reaction was exactly like Deb's. Which is why this is a short chapter. Since it's dedicated to him, I wanted to end with the character who is channeling him.

Never forgotten 555 be safe


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N**: I'm sorry for the delay in posting this update. The time that would have been spent on posting this chapter was instead used to write and post T**he Herald Angels Sing**, my tag to "A Very Supernatural Christmas". I hope you'll give that story a try, it's only a oneshot and I was pleased with how it turned out.

Thank you so very very much for your continued support of this story. I am still amazed and flattered.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine, no profits made, thanks for letting me play.

**From chapter 13**:

_It took Dean three tries before he could get any sound to come out of his mouth. "Well, that can't have been good for the paint job," he finally said shakily._

_Sam looked shell shocked, staring out the windshield with his eyes wide. He turned his head slowly and looked at Dean as a small smile started to pull at his lips._

_A strangled noise pulled their attention to the truck's driver. Her mouth was working but the only sounds coming out were little squeaks. Sam touched her arm tentatively and she drew in a gasp of air, letting it out in an explosion of sound._

"_WELL HOLY GOD DAMN!!!! THAT WAS FREAKIN AMAZING!!!"_

_Sam tilted his head back and laughed and Dean was powerless to stop the huge grin that curved his lips._

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**Hozho Chapter 14**

The moment of elation was short lived, but Sam was thankful for the boost it gave him when things fell apart.

The valley widened and the slope of Rockytop to their west grew steeper, slowing the fire's downhill advance. It had not reached the bottom of the slope yet in this section of the valley. A strong convection column channeled most of the smoke up into the sky, allowing them to see the line of fire still partway up the slope and working its way through the trees.

Sam tried to lean his head back against the glass behind him but the constant jostling as they barreled down the road bounced his head repeatedly off of the hard surface and he gave up with a sigh. He didn't need to give himself a concussion, he was already dizzy enough.

Dean leaned over, digging for something in the backpack. He sat back up brandishing a half full bottle of water and wearing a smile that would have looked like a triumphant smirk to anyone who didn't know him. Sam could see the slightly plastic look to the grin, and the tightening around Dean's eyes that got a little worse every time he glanced in Sam's direction.

Dean realized Sam was watching him and turned his attention to the road in front of them. "How much farther," he asked with forced nonchalance.

"Not much." Deb's voice was clipped, the strain easy to hear.

"We'll have enough time to get to the area you told us about, right?" Dean looked back and forth between the slopes on either side of them. "The fire doesn't look ready to spread across the water here."

"Don't let the distance fool ya," Deb warned. "Direct impingement ain't the only way it spreads."

"It could spot over the line, too," Sam added.

Dean looked at him with raised eyebrows and Sam pointed at the sky through the windshield. The smoke above them was pushing steadily to the east, crossing over the water and the areas cleared by the fire crews. Glowing sparks floated within the dark haze, advance scouts for the approaching flame front. Some winked out as the brothers watched, but others retained their orange radiance as they moved towards the trees on Brown Mountain. "Those embers land just right and they'll start spot fires," Sam explained.

"That far?"

"Hell, that's nothing," Deb broke in. "If conditions are just right you can have spotting a half mile, mile away."

Dean shook his head and offered the water bottle to his brother. Sam grabbed it eagerly. Thirst had become almost a physical pain, it was just more subtle in its torture than the heavy burn in his side. He could feel Dean's eyes on him as he tilted his head back to drink.

"So Sparky, when did you start channeling Smokey the Bear? How do you know all this stuff?"

Sam kept the bottle raised, trying to buy time. His immediate impulse was to shrug and pass his knowledge off as something he had picked up 'here and there'. But if he and Dean were going to regain their balance their time apart couldn't remain an off-limits subject. The half truths and hidden moments in their history had started as a way to spare each others feelings, but had somehow turned into an acid that was eating away at their relationship. The dialogue had to be opened, but he just didn't know if he had the strength to step onto the minefield yet.

"There were some big fires when I was in California. Got me interested." He gave a tentative smile. "You know how I am when I get curious about something."

"You mean Geek Boy in Research Heaven? Yeah, I'm familiar with it."

The smile on Dean's face was genuine and Sam relaxed slightly, deciding to take the plunge. "A good friend used to work with the fire crews in the summers, too. He used to have some good stories." Sam looked down at the water bottle as he screwed the cap back on and smiled reminiscently as he thought about sunlit afternoons in the Palo Alto apartment, sharing a couple of beers and laughing at Brad's stories. The smile froze when he looked up and met Dean's eyes. He waited for the shutters to drop, for the studied indifference that usually met all talk about Stanford.

A gentle smile creased Dean's face and relaxed the lines around his eyes. It was a smile that Sam couldn't remember seeing for years. Not since he was young, and would rush home in the afternoons, eager to tell his brother all about his adventures in school. Dean gave Sam a little nod. "You'll have to tell me some of the stories," he said quietly.

Sam didn't think he meant just Brad's fire stories, and something inside of him that had been tight and closed off for a long time began to loosen.

There was no warning or chance to brace themselves when the truck lurched sharply a second later. Sam was thrown into Dean, crushing his brother against the door next to him. Dean let out a startled curse when his head connected with the window.

They continued to bounce wildly and Deb fought to prevent the heavy vehicle from going off of the road and into the stream. She worked the brakes and the truck began to swing to the side with a groan. It slid sideways for just a few more feet before coming to a halt.

It was quiet in the cab after they stopped and Sam shook his head trying to clear it. His vision was gray around the edges and the world didn't seem to want to come into focus.

Dean's voice called for his attention and worry sparked through the fog in his mind. Dean sounded scared, breathless, in pain.

"Sam! You okay Sammy? Sam?"

He shook his head one last time and the world began to fall back into place. He became conscious of passionate cursing to his left. His brother's voice was closer, practically in his ear. It sounded as if Dean was struggling to get the words out. "Sam?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. Dean?" He couldn't keep the fear out of the word.

"You're fine? Then get the hell off of me Sasquatch. I can't breathe."

The truck rested at an angle, the rear corner on the passenger side much lower than the rest of the truck. Dean was wedged into the corner between the seat and the door, Sam's weight on top of him.

Deb stopped cursing for a moment to look at them from her stable perch behind the wheel. She shook her head with a scowl. "That's what they make seat belts for, dimwits!" She pointedly reached down and undid her own before opening the driver's door and climbing out, still shaking her head. "Let's go!" Her voice wafted in through the open door.

Sam grabbed the steering wheel and pulled himself up the bench seat, freeing his brother. It took more effort than he expected and he panted softly, trying to catch his breath. Dean popped the passenger door open and climbed out, then turned around and offered a hand to his brother. Sam grabbed it gratefully and allowed Dean to haul him out into the valley's dusty false twilight. The smoke over them was getting heavier by the second, the flying embers glowing even more ominously.

Dean pointed at what was left of the right rear tire. The rubber was gone, the rim dug so far into the dirt that the bumper on that back corner was resting on the ground. A long furrow trailed down the dirt road behind them, marking the rim's path to its present position.

Deb came around the back of the truck, moving quickly. She had exchanged her ball cap for a smooth yellow helmet and was wearing a black harness with a large portable radio strapped into a pocket across her chest and lexan water bottles clipped to both sides. She carried three bright blue packages that looked like oversized bricks in canvas carry cases, and tossed one each to the hunters. "Hold on to these just in case."

"Fire shelter," Sam explained at Dean's dubious expression.

"Get ready to go, we've gotta hustle," Deb growled as she threw open one of the truck's side compartments. She pulled out a pulaski, a tool that looked like a cross between an axe and a mutant hoe with a sturdy wooden handle, and held it at her side as she strode past the boys, headed toward the slope of Brown Mountain. "Drop the pack," she grumbled as she passed Dean, nodding at the backpack in his right hand. "It'll slow you down."

"Not a chance." Dean settled the pack over his shoulders and motioned for Sam to go ahead of him.

"Your funeral," Deb called back over her shoulder. "I ain't waiting for you."

She set a hard pace along the bottom of the slope, her eyes on the side of Brown Mountain above them as though she was looking for something. The roar coming down Rockytop was growing louder as the fire neared the edge of the trees on the other side of Big Run.

Sam looked over in time to see a large pine tree as it candled, exploding into flame from the bottom up with a loud _whoosh_. The trees on either side of it rapidly followed suit until the line of trees above the fire break on Rockytop was nothing but a wall of flames. The inferno grew more intense as Sam watched, flickers of orange, red, and gold reaching higher and higher into the sky. The heat became a wall, pressing into them across the cleared area that separated them from the fire front. He didn't realize he had slowed down until he felt Dean's hands on his back, urging him to go faster.

Deb was heading up the slope of Brown Mountain, moving towards a wide gap in the brushline above them. Sam stretched his legs to catch up, fighting to make up the ground he had lost when he slowed down. He was drenched with sweat by the time he went through the gap behind her, trying hard to ignore the tightness in his chest that came from not being able to catch his breath.

The gap marked the start of a rocky trail that worked its way across the slope, gradually moving higher. A screen of trees cut off their view of the fire on the other side of the valley, and shielded them from much of the heat. The footpath was wide, dusty packed earth broken up by occasional tree roots and small boulders. Sam eyed the forest around them uneasily. Brush was cut back a bit from the sides of the trail, but it was still too close for comfort. Parched foliage on the lower bushes scraped and rattled against each other in the gusts of wind and the taller trees swayed over their heads. The sky above them was dark with smoke, and ash floated down like a soft snow. The ash settled onto the thick dry layer of leaf litter that blanketed the ground around the trees. Sam's blood ran cold at the thought of hot embers landing on the ready made kindling.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The big cat came down the side of Brown Mountain. He had moved swiftly after freeing his brothers, cutting sideways across the top of the mountain before the fire could block his way.

The smell reached him far up the slope, an acrid stench. The fire was touching something that was not of the mountain. Paint…plastic…rubber. He followed the odor to the red truck, its sides blackened by a brush with the flames, the light bar on the top partially melted. One of his shots must have weakened the tire's heavy rubber, allowing the fire to finish the job for him.

The scent of blood lingered near the truck, lush and inviting, and the cat's tail whipped back and forth in excitement. He eyed the fire raging across the water, could feel its heat pushing against his heavy black coat. He lowered his head and began to trot slowly, following his prey. The wind whipped around him, driving the fire into a frenzy and pushing great clouds of smoke across the Run. The smoke surrounded him, choking him, and he gagged and coughed.

He turned in circles, snarling, desperate to find what the smoke had stolen from him, but the scent was lost. Heavy muscles bunched and he bounded out of the smoke, heading up the slope. He would look for them on the mountain.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Sam pushed his legs to move faster, grunting with the effort when the trail steepened. They climbed higher, putting a wider and wider swath of forest between them and the valley floor. Dean was quiet behind him, his normal quips and smart remarks smothered by the weight of the fire bearing down on them. Once the fire jumped the break and became established on their side it would roar up the slope with unstoppable force.

The heaviness in Sam's side throbbed with every pounding step on the hard trail. He kept his left arm against it, pressing hard, trying to hold the pain in. The shelter in his other hand did little to ease the panic clawing at his stomach.

A light mist of smoke began to drift through the trees, coming from farther down the slope. At first Sam thought it was the smoke from the main body of the fire banking down, but then he saw that Deb had broken into a run, the pulaski and fire shelter held tight to her sides as she sprinted up the trail. He glanced behind him to make sure Dean understood the significance of the new smoke and locked eyes with his brother. Dean's expression was grim but determined and Sam drew on his brother's strength.

He turned around and flew up the trail.

His vision wavered but he kept moving forward, his breathing harsh in his ears. The smoke around them thickened and he coughed, trying to work some saliva into his parched mouth, anything to ease the burning in his throat. A roar was building below them, harsh crackling and snapping wood announcing the approaching monster. His feet pounded across the earth and he fixed his focus on Deb's yellow shirt in front of him, blocking out everything else around him.

They burst out of the line of trees and Sam stopped dead at the sight of the charred desolation that surrounded them. The swath of land in front of them had been cleared of brush, anything left behind burned into black ash. The trail they were on was a scar cutting across the blackened ground. There had been no growth on it to burn.

Deb turned back when she realized the hunters had stopped. "You ain't there yet, let's go." A gust of wind carried a cloud of smoke out of the trees in back of them, underscoring her words. She pointed in front of her at a field of jumbled angular boulders beyond the burnt patch. "With these flame lengths we've gotta get to the middle of that." She eyed the height of the trees around them. "And then start praying," she muttered as she turned her back on them and continued moving.

Sam's legs began to wobble under him and he dropped his head forward, resting his chin on his chest. He just…needed a second…to catch his breath.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The cat ranged back and forth through the forest, searching. Several times he had caught the enticing scent of his prey, and each time he had lost it in the pungent ash that was falling around him.

He had almost missed the trail. The sound of the fire was closing in on him and he had been about to move away from it when a gust of wind brought the strong smell of blood to him. He ignored the threat of the fire to hunt for its source.

He emerged onto the beaten earth trail and growled low in this throat. It was everywhere. The air above the trail was filled with the aroma of the blood and he began to move stealthily, following it. With each step the smell became fresher and more pungent and desire filled him. Smoke rolled through the woods around him, but even it couldn't hide the overwhelming scent of his prey.

There was a curve in the trail ahead of him and he stalked towards it, sleek and low to the ground. He ignored the rising sound of the fire, the heat that was spreading through the trees as he neared the curve.

He rounded the bend and his scream of outrage was lost in the fire's roar. A sheet of flames lay across the trail, blocking his way.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Dean grabbed Sam's arm and began to urge him forward. "So, Smokey, you're the resident expert. Did the fire already burn through here?" he asked as he ushered Sam through the blackened area at a steady pace. He glanced over his shoulder nervously. Smoke was thickening in the trees behind them, starting to roll forcefully up the trail.

"Umm…yeah." Sam's face scrunched up as though he was trying to solve a difficult puzzle. "I mean…no."

Dean's eyes watered, stung by the acrid smoke that was getting heavier around them. Sam appeared ready to collapse, stumbling over small rocks on the trail, his eyes blinking and unfocused. His entire body was drooping—except for his left side. His left shoulder was hunched, the muscles on his arm corded, he was holding it so tightly to his side. Fresh blood was smeared across his forearm from where it was seeping through the black T shirt.

He tried again to get Sam focused. "Yes and no? Turning into a politician on me Sammy?"

"Ummm…No…I meant no. They probably burned this out for the safety zone. You know, make it wider, keep the heat farther away." Sam's voice was slurred but he seemed to be tracking better.

The roar behind them intensified and Dean realized that the breeze had eerily switched directions, heading towards the fire.

"That's not a wind shift that'll help us. The fire is making its own wind now, sucking air towards it," Sam said, seemingly reading his mind. That was something that hadn't happened in a while. Dean was gratified if it meant they were getting back on the same wavelength. Heck, he would have been downright thrilled about it if it wasn't under such extreme circumstances.

They reached the far edge of the burned out area and Dean eyed the jumble of rocks in front of them. What had looked like a boulder field at first glance was technically a 'block' field. The huge pieces of rock did not have the gently rounded sides of boulders. These were angular blocks tumbled together like a child's wooden block set after an elaborate castle has been knocked down. Except these blocks ranged in size from a couple of feet tall up to more than eight feet.

A flatter area of smaller and more even blocks marked where the trail wound through the field. Deb was already past the center point, standing and watching them. She looked at the tops of the trees in back of them and motioned frantically for them to hurry. She could obviously see something from her vantage point that wasn't visible to them.

A chill ran down Dean's spine. He didn't want to turn around and look, afraid of what he would see behind him. He didn't NEED to look, he could hear it rushing towards them.

He looped his arm around the back of Sam's waist, pushing the oversized T shirt aside to grab the top of Sam's pants, and held his brother against him as he started to move rapidly over the blocks of stone. The extra help seemed to focus Sam's energy, and his legs became a little steadier.

The blocks were not all even, their heights varied by as much as two feet in some sections. The race across them was a painful blur. Dean kept his focus on the blocks in front of him, stepping up, down, over, around, as his brother became progressively heavier against his side. The hand hooked onto Sam's pants became slick with moisture. He didn't know if it was his brother's sweat, or his blood. Chalk another item up on the 'don't really want to know' list. If he didn't get them far enough onto the blocks to be out of the fire's hungry reach it wouldn't matter anyway.

He was no longer sure if the roaring in his ears was the fire or his own heartbeat. Sweat took the place of the smoke, making his eyes burn and blinding him.

Solid hands against his chest stopped his forward rush and he blinked, trying to clear his eyes.

"Whoa, Nellie! You're far enough!"

Dean stood perfectly still with his brother slumped against him, hoping his trembling legs didn't embarrass him by dropping him to the ground. Sam's head was hanging, leaning against Dean's left shoulder, and Dean closed his eyes just for a second, tilting his own head sideways and resting it on top of his brother's sweat soaked hair.

The fire hit the line of trees next to the safety zone with a voracious fury. Sam's head shot up at the noise, and his body tensed, pulling away from Dean.

The brothers turned and watched the fire as it beat at the sky. Dean stepped in front of Sam, his nerves taut until he could see for himself that the flames weren't long enough to reach them. They seemed too close, the heat radiating from them harsh against their skin. Dean held his hand over his nose and mouth, trying to cushion them from the hot, dry air.

Deb appeared at his elbow. "I'm not gonna lie to ya, this zone is a little smaller than I like with this fire, that's why I made you come past the midpoint."

Dean looked at the flames leaping above the trees. "Then why not go even farther that way?" he asked, hooking his thumb over his shoulder and pointing to the edge of the safety zone opposite the fire.

"Because if the fire spots to that side and blows up we'd get fried," she answered matter of factly. "Seen enough of the show? Then how about you help me get your brother sitting down before he falls down?"

Dean tore his eyes from the fire and turned just in time to grab Sam's elbow as he started to sway.

"Over here." Deb motioned for him to join her in the right angle formed by two large blocks. He steadied Sam until they were next to the blocks and the bulk of one of them protected them from much of the radiated heat. Sam leaned his back against the block and slid down to sit with his legs extending in front of him. Dean gratefully shrugged out of the backpack and placed it on the ground next to Sam's legs, finally lowering himself to the ground next to it.

Deb opened one of the fire shelters and flicked her wrists, easily unfolding the silver foil-like material. She tucked one corner into the space between the two blocks and used large rocks and the tool she had carried with her to hold the other corners in place on other jumbled blocks. The small shelter ended up about four feet off the ground, extending over them like a canopy. "Not exactly the recommended use for them, but it'll keep some of the heat off and protect us from any embers floating down," she explained with a little smile as she crawled under it and sat cross-legged.

"How long are we going to have to wait here?" Dean asked, his eyes running over his brother's limp form. Sam's eyes were closed under bangs that curled damply against the sweat that coated his skin. His face was pale except for streaks of black where bits of ash had landed and smeared.

"Until the fire burns through." Deb answered Dean's sharp glance with a little shrug. "Sorry. It doesn't get any more exact than that. The birds are grounded by the wind and nobody can get to us by ground until the fire's burned through and they can come through the black." She recognized the fear on Dean's face and softened her tone. "Look, I radioed and explained the deal while you fellas were coming over the rocks. They're gonna do everything they can to expedite a response."

"Anybody bring a deck of cards?" Sam hadn't moved but his eyes were open a crack.

"Or how about those marshmallows?" Dean added with a smirk. He grasped Sam's wrist as he spoke and held back a shudder at how cold Sam's arm and hand felt. "We could make those gooey chocolate things." He kept his voice steady even as his own heartbeat jumped in response to his brother's racing pulse. "What do they call them?"

"S'mores. You'd love them." Sam's voice was little more than a whisper.

"You've had them? You been holding out on me, bitch?" Dean pulled the backpack closer and pulled out a wad of stashed gauze.

"Jess loved them. She always made a mess with them," Sam said with a wistful smile.

Dean eyed Sam's position leaning against the stone block and shook his head. "Listen, Jolly Green, I want to get a look at your side but I'm not a contortionist…well, except for that time with Valerie…man, she could—"

"Dean!"

Dean swallowed past the thickness in his throat and smirked at his brother with his eyebrows raised. Trying so damn hard to keep it light, make everything normal. "Okay, look, I need you to move so I can get to your side." He put his arm behind Sam's back and helped him slide down so that he was lying on the slab of rock. He caught Deb's eye and nodded first at the two unopened shelters and then at Sam's feet. She returned the nod and grabbed the two canvas covered bricks, sliding them under Sam's ankles to raise his legs. Dean scowled at the result. They weren't high enough, but it was better than nothing.

"Let me take a look, Sam. I think you sprang another leak." Sam grimaced in resignation and allowed Dean to move his arm away from its protective position against his side. The soft cotton T shirt was glistening wetly, wadded against Sam's ribs. It was no surprise to find the newest layer of gauze under it deep red.

Deb whistled air softly through her teeth. "Ouch," she said quietly.

Dean removed the top layer of sodden gauze and pressed the new batch into place, pressing down hard. Sam groaned and tried to curl onto his side, wrapping his body around the pain. "Dude, you've got to lay flat. It's bleeding pretty good again. We've got to get it stopped."

He pushed against Sam's shoulder, maneuvering him back into a flat position on the ground while Deb did the same, pushing at his hip. She froze with her hand resting on the front of Sam's pants pocket and looked at Dean with narrowed eyes.

"I take it this doesn't mean he's just happy to see me?"

Sam gave a quick snort of laughter and relaxed enough to lay flat again while Dean checked out the position of Deb's hand with his eyebrows raised. The hard bulk of the Beretta in Sam's pocket was visible under her fingers.

"You didn't think I came away from the bastard's truck unarmed when I slit his tires, did you? He had a freaking arsenal in there." Dean's own gun was tucked into the top of his pants, against his back.

"Guess I didn't think about it," she admitted. "How long's he been bleeding like that?"

"It's been off and on since the cat attacked, so maybe a day and a half. It just doesn't want to stop." He kept the pressure on with his right hand while he rubbed at his eyes with his left. Sam's ribs fluttered under his hand, moving in time to his brother's quick panting breaths. "But this is about the worst I've seen it," he said quietly, admitting it to himself.

"Maybe he nicked a vein or something?" Deb suggested.

"I don't know. Maybe," Dean said tiredly. It was too complicated to explain that he hadn't actually seen the wounds. His reasons were good—fear of opening them up and making the bleeding heavier, that exposing them to the dirt could increase the risk of infection—but to say them out loud made them seem like weak excuses. Frustration over his own helplessness was quick to turn to anger.

Betzgai was still out there somewhere, and Dean prayed that the fire hadn't claimed him. Prayed that he was coming after the brothers. Because he wanted to the see the look in the bastard's eyes when he and Sam sent him to Hell.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Black paws padded silently around the edge of the jumbled blocks, blending into the black ash that puffed upwards with every footfall. The massive black head was raised, nose sniffing the air.

He had raced up the mountain to get past the rapidly spreading flames, calling upon every bit of speed and power that he possessed. At first he had smelled nothing after he circled the top of the slope to reach a spot beyond the flames. But then it hit, strong and full, blood uncovered and flowing. He had followed it to the expanse of stone.

The panther paced along the edge that had not been touched by the wildfire yet, his sharp eyes searching the field of huge blocks fruitlessly. They could be hidden anywhere in its depths. The smell of blood was caught up with the smoke on the wind currents assuring him his prey was there. The fire would complete its circle of the field and they would be trapped.

The sleek black cat sprang easily from block to block until he stood ten feet above the ground, his red eyes searching the sea of stone at his feet.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**A/N**: My friend was forced to run the escape route to the safety zone when the column collapsed at a wildfire he was working and crews were almost entrapped by the explosively expanding flames. A 'column collapse' occurs when the column of smoke and heat generated at large fires collapses in on itself because of atmospheric conditions. The resulting huge downdraft can explode the fire outward. They can be very unpredictable and extremely dangerous.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N**: The holidays have made life insane for the last several days. I hope that you all have safe and happy holidays, full of the things that make you smile.

The support and encouragement you have given to me and the kind reviews you've left for both this story and T**he Herald Angels Sing** have made every day a little bit like Christmas. This fandom is truly full of wonderful people.

And to everyone at the SFTCOL(AR)S board, you all are a gift I enjoy every day.

ummm...there are a couple lines of dialogue that might sound a bit similar to lines in AHBL...nope, I didn't copy. This was written before that episode aired.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine, no profits made, thanks for letting me play.

**From chapter 14**:

_Betzgai was still out there somewhere, and Dean prayed that the fire hadn't claimed him. Prayed that he was coming after the brothers. Because he wanted to the see the look in the bastard's eyes when he and Sam sent him to Hell._

_-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-_

_Black paws padded silently around the edge of the jumbled blocks, blending into the black ash that puffed upwards with every footfall. The massive black head was raised, nose sniffing the air…_

…_The panther paced along the edge that had not been touched by the wildfire yet, his sharp eyes searching the field of huge blocks fruitlessly. They could be hidden anywhere in its depths. The smell of blood was caught up with the smoke on the wind currents assuring him his prey was there. The fire would complete its circle of the field and they would be trapped._

_The sleek black cat sprang easily from block to block until he stood ten feet above the ground, his red eyes searching the sea of stone at his feet._

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**Hozho Chapter 15**

Blackened skeletons partially clothed by flames reached into the air where the wildfire had first struck along the edge of the safety zone. Tendrils of smoke puffed out from their trunks and floated into the sky. More smoke rose from the low flames still flickering along the charred forest floor, a low fog that wreathed the smoldering trees eerily. Occasional creaks and sharp cracks marked falling snags, branches weakened by the fire that crashed to the ground in a shower of sparks and a brief flurry of renewed flame.

Dean stood on the smooth stone clearing in front of their impromptu shelter and stared at that section of the forest, ignoring the inferno that was still growing along the other edges of their sanctuary. The first section to burn would be the first to cool enough to let help through, right? If he kept his eyes there long enough, he'd see them coming with a stretcher, ready to carry his brother the hell out of there.

The fire was flanking them, moving steadily along the side edges of the block field. Each new tree it reached attested to its power, exploding into fire and shooting out a corona of massive embers before building to ferociously towering flames. The wind was working in their favor now that the head of the fire was past them, pushing the heat and embers away from them.

"Affirmed. Keep us informed."

He was only half paying attention to Deb's report to the fire's commanders. His ears were attuned to his brother, listening for any signal that his brother was awake and needed him. Dean was pretty sure Sam was only sleeping. The struggle to slow the bleeding down had taken it out of the kid. It was no picnic for Dean either, keeping the pressure in place even as his brother gnawed his bottom lip bloody trying not to cry out, and tears of pain trickled from the corners of his eyes.

Dean looked down at his right hand, examining the blood dried around his fingernails and in the creases of his knuckles. He sighed heavily and dropped his right hand to his side as his left began to massage the back of his neck. He rotated his head in wide circles while he worked at the knotted muscles. The bump on the back of his head sent pulses of pain across his skull and his brain was threatening to go into meltdown if he couldn't release some of the tension.

Deb walked over and stood next to him, but her eyes were on the section of the fire that was still growing, measuring and assessing the conditions.

"Anything new?" Dean almost didn't recognize his own voice, gravelly with exhaustion and the lingering effects of the smoke and heat.

"They got units staged, ready to come in as soon as the conditions let them." She unhooked a small carabiner suspending one of the water bottles from her vest and took a healthy swallow before offering it to Dean. He waved it off with a grimace and she rolled her eyes. "Wuss," she muttered softly as she unhooked the untouched bottle from her other side and handed it to him.

The sun was broiling on the exposed rock whenever it broke through the overhead smoke. The wind wasn't the only reason a red flag warning had been issued for the day. The day's brutal dry heat helped to create the perfect burning conditions. Dean was glad he had been able to get more water into Sam before he fell asleep.

Deb nodded her head in Sam's direction. "You two are pretty close, huh?"

"Yeah," Dean answered gruffly.

She nodded her head slowly. "I could see it, the way you are with each other. It's nice. You're older, right? You got that whole Papa Bear vibe going with him."

Dean gave a little smile. Deb had been a big help when things got tough for a little while, handing him more gauze and helping to soothe Sam and get him comfortable. He owed her to not shut her questions down. And if he was honest with himself, talking about Sam helped to distract him from the dark fear that was settling into his bones. "Yeah, he's my pain in the ass little brother. I've kinda been looking out for him his whole life."

"I'll bet he looks out for you too, huh? I could see how he looks at you."

"We've been watching each other's backs for a long time," Dean said softly. "I guess I trust him more than anybody else in the world."

Deb gave a grunt of acknowledgement. "Looks to me like the feeling's mutual. The way he was when you were taking care of him…no second guessing. He just flat out trusts you. It's like that with me and my crew. Lots'a people say they trust someone with their lives, but it's just a phrase, you know? Not with us. We mean it. We trust our lives to each other every day we're on the job. I know, I mean deep down KNOW, that if I'm in danger they'll risk themselves to take care of me. And I'd do it for them. It's a nice feeling, you know?"

"Yeah, I do know." It struck him that he'd always known. Even when they were separated he'd known. It didn't matter how many other people Sam had in his life, it didn't matter what direction Sam's life took him. When the chips were down, he would have Dean's back. He would risk his own life for Dean without a second's hesitation. Even if things never went back to the way they used to be before Stanford, Sam would always be his brother. Whether they were together or not, Sam would always 'be there' to keep him balanced.

He snorted out a quick laugh. Here he was, having a huge friggin Oprah moment, and Sam wasn't even awake to enjoy it.

Dean's shoulders lowered a bit, the tension partially eased. If they made it out of this…WHEN they made it out of this, they were going to be okay.

Deb tugged on his arm, turning him around to look at the other side of the safety zone. "This is something you'll probably never see again. And sure as hell not with a front row seat."

The head of the wildfire had split around the block field, devouring the trees on both sides at roughly the same rate. Now the two flame fronts had reached the end of the field and were racing towards each other like out of control freight trains. "Should we be moving back?" Dean asked nervously.

"Wind's in our favor," Deb said, looking up at the smoke floating through the sky above them. "If it gets too hot we get back under there." She nodded at the suspended fire shelter.

The walls of fire collided with a roar that was deafening. A tower of flame shot upwards, a giant fireball exploding into the air above it. Brilliant red and gold light reflected off of the huge cloud of smoke and painted the grey and white blocks of stone in the hues of the flames.

For much of his life Dean had seen fire as the bringer of death and destruction, or as a tool to be used by hunters. But in nature, doing no one's bidding but its own, for the first time he saw that its power could be breathtakingly beautiful.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Sam awoke with a gasp, his eyes flying open at a thunderous blast of noise. He looked up at the material over his head, focusing on the pinholes of light that marked the shelter's seams. Something was wrong. It was prodding the back of his mind, trying to get him to corral his thoughts and pay attention.

He clamped his teeth together to hold in a groan as he slowly pushed himself into a seated position. His right arm trembled slightly as he leaned heavily on it, his left arm gently cradling his side. The world did loops around him and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to bring it under control, trying to hear past the rapid thunder of his pulse in his ears.

His panting breaths slowed and he opened his eyes cautiously, relieved when they decided to cooperate and he was able to focus.

The explosion that had woken him settled down to a muted roar and he could hear the low murmur of voices outside of the shelter. And something else. The click of something moving over rock near him. Just a whisper of sound that he knew he should be able to identify. The sound came again and he was with Jess in his mind. Their last visit to see her family…the family's golden retriever in the kitchen…clicking across the ceramic tile because his nails needed to be cut…

His blood turned to ice. He maneuvered himself onto his knees and moved silently forward, edging out from under the silver canopy. Deb and Dean were side by side on the other edge of the clear area in front of the shelter, their attention focused on the fire.

Sam turned his head slowly and his breath caught. The panther was crouched on top of a block of stone, his red eyes fixed on the hunter and the woman. His black coat was burnished gold by the firelight. It highlighted every ridge and plain of the massive body, the ripple of muscles as it leaned forward minutely, poised and ready to launch itself into the air.

"DEAN!!" Sam's voice was deep with fear and Dean instantly started to turn towards him, his hand reaching towards the small of his back. Out of the corner of his eye Sam saw the cat begin its powerful leap, its front legs extended, claws reaching hungrily.

"DOWN!!!"

Dean reacted instantly, abandoning his attempt to reach his gun, he wrapped his arms around Deb and threw himself sideways onto the ground. Sam jumped to his feet and reached for the gun in his pocket as the cat sailed through the spot where Deb and Dean had been standing a moment before.

Dean wrapped himself more completely around Deb as soon as they hit the ground and began to roll with her in the opposite direction from the cat's movement, trying to put more distance between them and the spot where the panther would land.

Panic flared briefly when Sam realized that, because of the slope of the ground, they had just put themselves in his line of fire. Tremors moved up and down his arm and he blinked to clear the spots of light floating in his vision. He made a split second decision and dropped the gun. He wasn't steady enough to take a chance with it.

But he could buy Dean the time to get his.

The cat hit the ground slightly off balance as a result of its prey suddenly disappearing. The unimpeded momentum slid the creature forward a few feet before it could gather its legs under it, but then it turned smoothly and its red eyes fixed on the figures on the ground.

Sam snatched the Pulaski from where Deb had wedged it to brace part of the canopy. Its wooden handle was smooth and solid in his hand, the metal head heavy.

The cat dropped into a crouch and the muscles in its haunches bunched and released as it sprang forward.

Sam grasped the tool with both hands and swung it back as he charged forward, placing himself between Betzgai and his target. With a fierce cry he brought the Pulaski around like he was going for a home run, putting every bit of strength he could find within himself into the swing.

It might have done some serious damage if he had been clear headed enough to make sure the axe edge was forward. Instead, the flat of the tool's head connected with the cat, hitting it on the side of its shoulder and knocking it out of the air. It landed on its side and screamed its outrage.

The panther was a solid mass of bone and muscle, and the force of the tool's hit reverberated back through Sam's muscles. He dropped to his knees with a choked cry, both of his arms wrapping themselves over his left side as the tool fell from his numb hands.

The cat rolled onto its stomach and pushed itself up to stand. Its left front leg gave out under it on the first attempt and the animal snarled in fury, its red eyes fixed on Sam. It pushed itself up again, this time favoring that leg.

The world was spinning around Sam and he shook his head to clear it, trying to keep his eyes on the skinwalker. The creature shook out its left paw and stretched the leg out and back a couple of times in a move that looked remarkably human as it tested its bruised shoulder.

"Dean?" Sam glanced over his shoulder when there was no response from behind him. Dean was still on the ground, face down, just starting to stir as Deb pushed her way out from under him.

The cat lowered its left paw to the ground and placed his weight on it with mocking slowness. It tilted its head to the side, its gaze still locked on Sam as it lowered itself to a crouch. The black head stretched forward as the skinwalker began to slink towards Sam, stalking him, the tip of its tail twitching back and forth.

Sam reached his right hand down and grabbed the Pulaski as he pushed himself up off of his knees and into a crouch. He honestly didn't think he could stand at that moment without help. He held the tool straight out in front of him, a pitiful barrier between himself and the deadly creature.

It drew its head back and snarled at the same time it swatted with an enormous paw, the viciously sharp claws extended and deadly. The Pulaski flew out of Sam's hand and he fell sideways onto his knees. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the cat begin to scramble towards him and he tensed waiting for the feel of the claws.

There was the sharp bark of a Beretta behind him and the cat dropped to the ground with a grunt, blood welling from a spot on the front of its chest, over the solid bone of its shoulder. A second shot went wide, sending chips of stone off of the block next to the cat's body. The skinwalker rose to its feet and in one fluid motion leapt smoothly onto a tall block, looking as though the injury didn't even faze it. Another bullet chased it out of sight over the block.

Sam's head dropped and he closed his eyes as a series of chills chased through him. He was gonna buy Dean glasses when they got out of here. Something shuffled across the stone towards him and then the solid weight of a warm hand was on his shoulder. "Sam? You okay?"

He turned his head and opened his eyes in response and suddenly understood the missed shots. It was lucky any of the shots had hit. Hell, it was really lucky none of the shots had hit HIM. Dean was crouched next to him, looking wobbly enough for Sam to wonder if the hand on his shoulder had more to do with Dean keeping his balance than it did with checking on Sam. A bloody scrape ran across the right side of Dean's forehead and onto his temple and he was blinking his eyes as though he was trying to get them to focus.

"I'm fine," Sam croaked. "Are YOU okay?"

Dean lifted his right hand, the gun still clasped tight, and used the back of his hand to wipe blood away before it could drip into his eyes. He gave Sam a strained grin. "Have I mentioned lately just how much I want to smoke this guy?"

Sam snorted a quick laugh. "I don't think he's too big a fan of yours, either."

"That was no mountain lion." The voice behind them was soft and matter of fact and they both turned to look at Deb. She was sitting with her back against one of the blocks, her eyes wide as she shook her head slowly. "Nope. Not a mountain lion."

"Deb? You doing all right over there?" Dean called to her.

She looked over at them. "That wasn't a mountain lion," she repeated again, as though they might have been wondering.

The boys shared a questioning look and Dean gave a little shrug. "Well, she's right. It wasn't a mountain lion."

"I have seen some strange things before," she continued her voice strengthening, "But that was some freaky ass shit."

Sam rolled his eyes. "She's fine."

Dean wrapped his hand around the top of Sam's arm. "Can you stand up?"

"Yeah. He might be licking his wounds, but he's coming back."

"I know," Dean said quietly as he hauled Sam to his feet. Neither of them was the picture of stability once they were upright, and they stood leaning against each other for a second. The blocks of stone around them were the perfect hunting ground for a creature that could leap effortlessly from block to block, and slip silently through the spaces around them. The skinwalker could be behind any of the blocks near them, and they wouldn't know it.

Dean steadied quickly and Sam was bolstered by the feel of his brother's strength next to him. Dean's hand was still on his arm, welcome warmth against the chill spreading over Sam's skin. It was ironic that they were literally surrounded by fire, and he was cold.

"Where's your gun?" Dean asked quietly.

Sam looked in the direction of the collapsed canopy. "I don't know. I dropped it when I grabbed the Pulaski."

Both heads swiveled at the sound of a soft thud behind a block to their right. Dean let go of Sam's arm and raised the Beretta, cradling it in both hands.

A few soft steps brought Sam to the crumpled silver shelter. His yank on the Pulaski had pulled the makeshift canopy free from its other anchors as well and it was lying on the ground covering the spot where Sam had been sleeping. He crouched next to it and began to root around under the edge that was closest to where he had dropped the gun.

"There!" Deb pointed at the space between two blocks about fifteen feet in front of her. "He was just there!" Dean turned to look at her and she pointed the way the panther was moving. Dean stepped to the center of the flat area that bordered their shelter, his eyes scanning the section of blocks that Deb had indicated.

Sam began shoving the silver material out of his way, growing more frustrated with every second that the gun remained hidden. Deb grabbed an edge of the shelter and began pulling it towards herself, trying to help. Each yank revealed more of the flat stone, uncovering the other shelters still in their cases, discarded pads of bloody gauze, water bottles, and the backpack…but no silver Beretta.

Dean turned sharply at the sound of a snarl behind rocks to his left, only to swivel immediately back to his right as the panther leapt onto the top of a block there. It disappeared again in the blink of an eye as Dean fired off a quick shot.

In the second that the cat was on the block, Sam was sure that he had seen a flash of red staring in his direction. He had the eerie feeling that the creature was checking out all of their positions. His hands trembled as he reached over and snagged the backpack by one of its shoulder straps. He quickly drew it towards him and his hand delved inside, coming to rest on the shotgun.

He froze when movement behind Deb caught his eye. He hadn't even noticed the gap between two blocks a few feet behind where she sat. The angle of the stone hid it from Dean's sight, but Sam could see the edge of the opening, and the black paw that moved stealthily into view. It was dangerously close to the firefighter, but he had absolutely no shot from where he was. If he waited for the cat to emerge it would be too close to Deb.

He dove sideways and landed on his right side with the shotgun extended in front of him and fired into the gap. The angle still wasn't good and most of the shot hit the side of the opening and ricocheted harmlessly away. But at least some of the load must have connected, and the blast drove Betzgai away from Deb.

"Holy Shit!" Deb scrambled away from Sam on all fours, looking back over her shoulder at the gap. She didn't stop until she was past Dean and had the Pulaski in her hand.

Dean moved so that he had a view of the gap but didn't step any closer to where Sam still lay on his side on the ground. Keeping his distance gave Dean a better angle to watch the blocks around them. "You okay, Quick Draw?"

The world was spinning around Sam and he let his head thump to the ground. The constant merry go round was getting old real fast. "Yeah." He couldn't help that it sounded more like a groan than an answer. They had to end this soon or Dean would be facing Betzgai alone.

There was a muffled curse behind him and two quick reports from the Beretta. Sam rolled onto his back, the shotgun ready, but Dean was shaking his head in disgust. Until they got a solid body hit, all of the damages they were inflicting on the skinwalker seemed about as effective as a BB gun against an elephant.

It took a couple of tries before Sam was able to push himself into a sitting position. He caught Dean watching him, his face a mask of frustration and worry. There were some small streaks of blood down the side of Dean's face, but it looked like the scrape hadn't bled much.

The blood on his brother gnawed at something in Sam's chest. If things kept going the way they were, it would keep getting worse. Betzgai would keep whittling away at them until one of them made a mistake, or just wasn't quick enough.

Sam turned his head and looked at the one edge of the block field that was visible from his position. It didn't look like help would be getting to them any time soon. The winds had died, but an inferno still raged before his eyes. He closed them and hung his head in exhaustion. Where were their feathered rescuers when they needed them?

The young hunter raised his head slowly when he thought of the owls, and his forehead crinkled as his mind began to work. Thinking was not exactly an easy task at the moment, and he fought through the fog. He rolled onto his knees and got his feet under him, pushing himself to stand.

It was back, the feeling that he was being watched. Maybe Betzgai was right and there was some weird connection between them. He understood things about the skinwalker, things that he could use. Sam clamped his arm against his left side and hunched over it, easing the pull of the skin there, before stumbling over to lean his back against the tallest block around them.

Dean was a safe distance away with Deb behind him. Most importantly, Dean had an unimpeded view of Sam's position and of the blocks near Sam.

Sam took a deep breath and pushed the fear down. Dean would have his back. He trusted that fact implicitly. Of course Dean would also instantly understand what Sam was doing and then fratricide might become an issue. The downside of being back on the same wavelength in this particular case.

It was time to start pushing Betzgai's buttons. He looked at Dean and gave a little smile before taking another deep breath. He was a little breathless but hoped his voice would carry. Although it probably wouldn't matter if he whispered. The witch would hear.

"BETZGAI! It's time for the _hozho_ you damaged to be restored!" He paused, gathering his thoughts. "You're bleeding, aren't you? Has that happened before? You did not trap us in the fire, we trapped you. We are hunters! We do not fear the _yee nadlooshii... _we destroy them!"

A low snarl sounded behind the block next to Sam, slowly moving as the cat paced on the other side of the screen of blocks. It wasn't Betzgai's eyes Sam felt on him now, it was his brother's furious glare. He was glad Deb had the good sense to keep her mouth shut, even though she was probably convinced Sam had lost his mind.

"The brother hunters destroyed the monsters, right Wilson? To prepare the land for the _Diné_? What made you think YOU could defeat the brothers?"

The snarl built in volume and became an earsplitting scream. Sam forced a laugh. "You are not as strong as the creatures that walked when this world was created. You are nothing compared to the creatures destroyed by the brothers. You are not even strong enough to stand against the _hataali_ who are witching you now! You will never see the _Dinétah_ again. You have no clan. You are nothing." Sam's voice was barely a whisper by the end, but it was enough.

Sandy bits of stone from the top of the block that Sam was leaning against landed on his head and shoulders. He heard the grunting breath, felt the movement of the air currents as something large swung at his head, at the same time Dean's voice screamed "DOWN!!" and the Beretta spat.

He reacted instantly, wrenching the top of his body down and to the side. He swore he felt claws skim through his hair as the massive paw slashed through the air above him. The sound of his brother cursing was swallowed by an unending bellow of pure rage as the creature leapt off of the block.

Insanity stoked the skinwalker's movements and it did not jump to safety this time. It landed with graceful power on the ground in front of Sam, instantly twirling to face him with its lips drawn back in a vicious snarl, wickedly long and sharp canines on full display. Red eyes blazed hatefully in the black face and locked on Sam's eyes.

Sam was ready, but this time the blood loss slowed his reflexes. He raised the shotgun and fired as the cat lunged towards him, but his arm wasn't quite strong enough, or quick enough, to take effective aim. The shot went wide, peppering the ground and blocks of stone next to the cat, with only the edge of the pattern hitting the intended target.

Dean's aim was much more accurate. The beast stopped dead in its tracks, visibly flinching with each of the shots that struck the side of its body. Dean's self professed ability to keep track of his shots must have been burnt out, because Sam could hear the clicks as Dean continued to fire after the magazine was empty.

The panther staggered sideways, his legs starting to buckle under him. The huge head turned as it attempted to nip at the three bloody holes in its side. The holes looked small against the massive bulk of the cat's body, but when the head turned back to Sam the eyes seemed dimmer, fearful.

There was a distinctive click as a new magazine slid into place and the panther straightened up and surged forward. His gait was unsteady, no longer graceful, but he was still fast. Sam cringed back, but the skinwalker was not coming for him. It brushed past Sam, knocking him heavily against the block next to him before disappearing through an opening, leaving only a trail of crimson behind.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**A/N**: Deb has been a combination of people, but there is a passage that she speaks in this chapter that comes straight from my heart.

If you want to read a fascinating bit of wildfire lore, look up the inventor of the Pulaski tool, Edward Pulaski, and 'The Big Burn" or "The Big Blowup" of 1910. There's a wild story about how he saved members of his crew during that fire, which ended up killing dozens of people and destroying a number of towns.

_Diné_ 'The People', the Navajo people

_yee nadlooshii_ "beings that travel on four legs", Skinwalkers

_hataali_ Navajo religious singer, ceremonial singer, healer

_Dinétah_ the Navajo lands

_hozho_ beauty, harmony, balance


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N**: I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday. My husband surprised me with a Zuni carved bear fetish that is now sitting on the desk in front of me, next to the Navajo carved bear fetish he gave me last Christmas. I'll bet when he gave it to me last year he didn't realized just what having that bear sitting in front of me on the desk would lead to. LOL

Thank you so much to everyone who has been sharing this story with me and for all of your encouraging comments. I owe a couple of you replies. Please know your comments mean the world to me even though the holidays prevented me from replying as quickly as I would have liked.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine, no profits made, thanks for letting me play.

**From chapter 15**:

_Dean's aim was much more accurate. The beast stopped dead in its tracks, visibly flinching with each of the shots that struck the side of its body. Dean's self professed ability to keep track of his shots must have been burnt out, because Sam could hear the clicks as Dean continued to fire after the magazine was empty._

_The panther staggered sideways, his legs starting to buckle under him. The huge head turned as it attempted to nip at the three bloody holes in its side. The holes looked small against the massive bulk of the cat's body, but when the head turned back to Sam the eyes seemed dimmer, fearful._

_There was a distinctive click as a new magazine slid into place and the panther straightened up and surged forward. His gait was unsteady, no longer graceful, but he was still fast. Sam cringed back, but the skinwalker was not coming for him. It brushed past Sam, knocking him heavily against the block next to him before disappearing through an opening, leaving only a trail of crimson behind._

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**Hozho Chapter 16**

Dean held the gun up to his chest and ran forward, his eyes scanning the area around his brother. There was blood on the ground, a heavy trail that lead through the gap next to Sam. Dean cautiously squeezed through, his heart pounding. There was no sign of Betzgai on the other side, just spatters of red that led off around blocks of stone.

Deb was kneeling next to Sam, handing him a bottle of water, when Dean came back through the gap. Sam sat slumped against the stone but looked up at Dean's approach, the question plain on his face.

"Elvis has left the building," Dean said, crouching down. Reaction began to set in as the original adrenaline rush faded. Dean's hands started to shake and he carefully placed the gun on the ground next to him before clenching both hands into fists. He was fighting the very real desire to reach out and throttle his brother. When he had seen the big cat on the rock above Sam… That paw could easily have broken Sam's neck. Or ripped his throat out. Dean swallowed hard, trying to keep the acid in his stomach where it belonged.

"Bait? You set yourself as bait and then provoked him? What were you thinking, Sam?!"

"I was thinking it's what you would have done if positions were reversed. What you HAVE done in the past. I was thinking we had to end it soon or you were going to be on your own facing him."

The answer took the wind out of Dean's sails. It wasn't just what was said, but also how it was said. Sam's voice had started out sure and strong but quickly lost power. It was paper thin and breathless by the time he was done speaking.

"Yeah, well you're not supposed to do what I'd do. You're the smart one, remember? I'm the ruggedly handsome daredevil of the duo. Don't go stealing my gig!"

Sam gave a soft snort and fear spiked through Dean's gut. Seeing Sam in action it was easy to forget how serious his condition was. It always took Dean by surprise when he got a glimpse at just how deep his little brother's wells of strength and determination were. But eventually the wells had to run dry, even for Sammy Schwarzenegger. Sam's eyes were blinking slowly, his body slack. He was obviously fighting to stay conscious.

Dean looked at Deb, who was being remarkably quiet. Her expression was blank, as though she was trying to fit everything that had just happened into reality as she knew it. It looked like another person's world was being rearranged because of a meeting with the Winchester brothers. "Any word from your people?" he asked.

She stood up and looked at the condition of the fire around them, her face becoming animated again as she stepped back into her own familiar world. Dean was surprised when she didn't look at the spot where they had entered the field, instead looking farther down the slope. "Fire's almost done burning through that area and it looks like the smoke is getting lighter down that way." She pointed in the direction she was looking. "Spur to the fire road comes up right over there. I don't know what's going on in the valley, but when things cool off enough they'll be able to get one of the brush units up here." She glanced down at Sam. "Too bad I couldn't get our truck to the spur. Would have saved us the effort of hiking in the long way."

Deb crouched down again, taking Sam's wrist in her hand. She frowned at whatever she felt and looked up to find Dean watching her. "You're gonna explain what the holy hell is going on around here, right?" Deb asked quietly, her tone saying she was ready to accept whatever explanation he gave. "Is that thing connected to the guy that was shooting at us?"

Dean's mouth twisted in a humorless smile as he wondered just how far that acceptance would stretch. "That 'thing' IS the guy that was shooting at us."

Deb thumped down onto her knees, sitting back to rest over her heels. She looked at Sam. "You mentioned the _Diné_ and called him _yee naaldlooshii_. Is he? Is he an honest to God skinwalker?"

It was the brothers' turn to look shocked.

The firefighter waved her hand dismissively at their expressions. "Don't get your panties in a twist. I've worked next to hot shot crews from the Navajo Res plenty of times. The older guys are quiet, but some of the younger guys…I always thought they were just blowing smoke up my skirt with their stories. But, you know, I always wondered. Mainly because the older guys would get a little pissed off...hell, some of 'em were downright scared...when anybody talked about skinwalkers." She shook her head with a bemused smile. "Huh. Guess they actually weren't shittin' me. Ya learn something new every day."

Sam raised his right hand and patted the air in front of him in a gesture for them to keep their voices down. "You know he's listening to us," he said softly.

Deb's eyes widened. "He's still here? He didn't take off? I mean, he SHOT him!" She pointed at Dean.

Dean began to scan the area around them. "You think he's still coming after us, Sam? I nailed him pretty good."

"That's why he'll come after us again. He's obsessed, and he may be dying. He thinks killing us is his last chance." Sam grabbed Dean's arm and Dean was alarmed at how weak the grip felt. "In effect he's an injured, cornered animal. But remember, he's got human intelligence. He'll be at his most dangerous now because he's got nothing to lose…and he knows it."

A grimace worked its way across Dean's features. Damn he hated when his brother was right about stuff like this. Sam began to push himself to sit up straighter and stopped with a soft hiss, scrunching his eyes shut.

Dean immediately lifted the shirt from Sam's side, frowning at the fresh blood that had made it all the way down to the waist of Sam's pants. "Damn it, Sammy! We had this bleeding stopped! Why'd you go jumping around and get it started again?"

One hazel eye cracked open and looked at him in disbelief. "Maybe cause I like having you around as a brother?" The muttering that followed sounded amazingly like the word 'jackass'.

A small spot of warmth bloomed in Dean's chest. Jeez…he was going to have to start watching the Lifetime channel he was turning into such a girl. He wiped the small smile off of his face when he heard Deb snicker. "God save me from Y chromosomes."

He scowled and reached for the bottle of water next to his brother, his hand stilling when a small gust of wind surrounded him with smoke and he started to cough. His hand diverted from the water to Sam's shoulder when his brother also started coughing. The crackle of the fire seemed to be louder, the air a little warmer. He looked at Deb with his eyes watering. "What's going on?"

Deb stood up and looked out at the trees burning on the edge of the field with a frown. "The wind shifted. Predicting them around fires isn't an exact science."

Dean looked up at her with a frown. It wasn't enough they still had to worry about a psycho skinwalker? "Do we have to move?"

The firefighter eyed the trees for a second before shaking her head. She crouched down again and talked quietly, her eyes darting back and forth as though nervous Betzgai could hear her. "The fire's banked down a little. I wouldn't want to be any closer to it, but we should be okay here."

He nodded his head and returned his attention to Sam's side. The bout of coughing had left Sam with his eyes closed and his head tilted back against the rock behind him. "God Sam, I hate to say this, but we've got to try and get the bleeding under control again. Can you get the backpack?" he asked, turning to Deb. He put his hand on her arm and stopped her as she moved to stand. "Keep your eyes open."

She nodded and grabbed the Pulaski from the ground next to her as she stood up, cautiously stepping away from them. The spot where they had originally sought refuge under the silver shelter was blocked from their view by a few well placed blocks and Dean tensed as the firefighter moved out of sight.

"Dean, right now you've got more important things to worry about than this." Sam's voice was a breathless murmur as he nodded down at his side. It looked like he was fighting to keep his eyes open, blinking them slowly as he tried to stay focused on Dean. He slowly lifted the shotgun with his right hand. "Need a reload."

Dean sat back on his haunches and locked his eyes on Sam. "Two things. 'A', we're out of shells. 'B', there's nothing more important than this." He indicated Sam's side. "No more bull between us, right? I've done a crappy job of keeping up my end of the bargain lately and watching out for you. It seems like you're the one always pulling MY ass out of the fire. I swore to myself that would change, and I meant it. I'm not letting you bleed out on me Sammy. You got that?" Dean ducked his head and stopped talking when Deb dropped the backpack onto the ground and kneeled down next to Sam.

His brother wasn't quite as shy in front of other people. Sam's voice conveyed the strength of heartfelt belief, making it forceful even though it was barely a whisper. "Now you're being an idiot. It's a two way street. We watch out for each other. We're pretty even when it comes to saving each other's butts. YOU got THAT?"

A short choppy nod was the only response Dean could bring himself to give. He didn't want to lie to Sam and pretend everything was goodness and light—he had screwed up protecting Sam too many times for him to accept a 'get out of jail free' card so easily. But he was willing to think about it. He looked up at Sam. "Back to 'A'. No shells. Did you find your gun?"

Deb's face went from feigned indifference in their conversation to wide eyed inspiration. "It was silver, right?" At their nods her smile grew. "I think I just saw it."

She moved back to the edge of the blocks separating them from the crumpled silver shelter and dropped to her knees. "I saw the sun reflect off of something…" She leaned forward and began to reach into a crevice under the block.

Her movements stilled, her eyes fixed on the area beyond the screen of stone. "Oh crap," she said softly.

The low rumble of a soft growl came from the spot that had snagged Deb's attention. Sam stiffened next to Dean and the two exchanged a quick look. Sam gave a slight nod and Dean picked up his gun and rose smoothly to his feet. He began to move quickly and quietly away from Sam, angling outwards to get a shot at Betzgai without the firefighter being in the line of fire.

"CRAP!" Deb snatched her hand back from the crevice and threw herself backwards as a black paw swiped towards her, claws running down her arm. She landed on her butt and began to scoot backwards.

Dean still couldn't see the panther. He darted forward, moving around the edge of the large obstruction with the Beretta held ready. A black tail disappearing over the top of a block about twenty feet away was his only glimpse of the cat. The generous amount of blood smeared up the face of the stone did little to ease his anger. "He's bleeding that heavy and he still hasn't slowed down?" Dean shook his head in disgust before glancing over his shoulder at Deb. "Are you okay?"

She examined her arm with an angry frown. "Son of a bitch ripped my shirt! And you're wrong. He is slower. He turned to jump as soon as he did this," she said, fingering her shredded sleeve. "He didn't seem all that interested in coming after me."

The hunter looked at her in confusion. The wind gusted and swirls of smoke ghosted through the air around them as soft ash and embers drifted down. "Why would he…" Dean looked at the towering trees cloaked in flames that provided a backdrop to the block that Betzgai had disappeared over. The cat couldn't have gone much farther in that direction.

The air left Dean's lungs in a rush and his body went cold. Betzgai had pulled him away from Sam, and the gap next to Sam.

Dean swiveled to his right to face Sam, preparing to yell a warning. He realized the fault in his logic a second too late. Out of the corner of his right eye he could see a black shape rushing towards him. Betzgai wasn't going after the ones he considered vulnerable, he was going after the one he considered the biggest threat. He had circled past Sam's position in order to come at Dean from the side.

There was no time to turn the gun towards the panther. Dean swiveled in the other direction, trying to dodge out of the way. The bullet wounds were taking their toll, the cat's former grace replaced by a lumbering gait. The creature was slower now, but not slow enough for Dean to dodge completely out of the way.

A forceful blow against the back of his hip and leg sent Dean flying forward. He landed hard on his stomach, his left arm raised to protect his head and face. The Beretta flew out of his right hand, landing several feet away. Betzgai staggered after the impact but kept going, leaping clumsily onto the same blood smeared blocks he had escaped over just moments before.

Dean eyed the gun's position and began to pull his knees under him, ready to lunge for it. A menacing snarl from the top of the block halted his movements. He pulled his right arm back in towards his body, making it clear he wasn't going for the gun. Dean might have managed to dodge the first attack, but now that Betzgai knew Dean was disarmed there was nothing stopping him from launching a second, deadly, attack.

"Are you okay?" Deb's voice was a strained whisper. She was still on the ground, her eyes wide and glued to the panther.

"Yeah," Dean grunted out as he faced Betzgai and pushed himself up onto his feet. The Beretta lay on the ground midway between them, glittering red and gold as it reflected the flames in back of the big cat.

Dean's hand moved slowly towards his pocket as he looked up at the creature. Intelligent red eyes watched Dean's every move, the panther still tall and powerful despite the blood dripping from the black pelt. Frustration was a lead weight in Dean's gut. After everything they had been through with the skinwalker, it came down to this moment. The knife in his pocket might as well have been a child's toy against the large and seemingly indestructible creature poised over him.

The frustration turned to fear. His life wasn't the only one balanced on the edge of this moment.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Sam began rooting through the backpack as soon as Dean moved away from him. He had to be wrong, there had to be more shells for the shotgun. There had to be something…anything. His hands trembled as he pushed things aside, searching. He identified items by touch, his vision swimming too much to make out the items in the bag's depths.

He jumped when Deb sprang backwards, his eyes narrowing as he focused on her, fearful of the blood he was sure to see. The stone against his back supported even more of his weight when he slumped back with relief. She looked okay.

But the Beretta remained silent in Dean's hands, his brother just staring at the area past the screen of stone. Sam strained to hear what his brother and Deb were talking about, but the roaring in his ears, the noise that sounded like crackling fire, deafened him.

"Dean!" His voice didn't have the power to yell a warning when he saw the stealthy movements of a large black figure to Dean's right. It emerged as a strained whisper. It almost looked as though his brother heard him, because at that exact moment Dean turned towards him, his face twisted in fear, his mouth opening to yell.

The black figure was a blur to Sam's hazy eyes, bearing down on his brother, almost there before Dean saw him. Dean twisted away, but he was too late. The cat hit him and Sam saw his brother going down. He disappeared, out of sight behind the screen of stone, the cat seemingly on top of him.

Fear was a wave crashing through Sam, stealing his breath, numbing his body. His hand closed around an object in the bottom of the backpack and he pulled it out, his arm shaking. He couldn't see what was happening behind the stone block, could only see Deb, completely still, her eyes wide and fixed on the sight in front of her. Sounds were muted, jumbled, lost in the crackling and roaring in his ears. And over it all a constant litany in a frightened voice that sounded like his own. "no…no…no…no…no…"

Sam twisted to face the stone in back of him and clawed himself upward, fighting to make his legs work. He hung his head for just a moment once he was upright, cursing the weakness that made the world spin around him and blackened the edges of his vision.

His feet were numb, but he somehow made them move. His eyes fixed on the edge of the stone block that hid his brother from him. Needing to know what was beyond it. Terrified to know.

He reached the edge and froze, his legs almost collapsing under him at the sight of his brother, standing and whole. He closed his eyes, unknowingly pushing out a tear that mingled with the sweat and ash on his face.

When his eyes opened they held a new light. Fear replaced by absolute rage. This ended…now.

The tableau before him was tense and still. Dean's back was to him, the gun on the ground between his brother and the creature on the stone block. Dean and the skinwalker stared at each other, oblivious to the rest of the world.

Betzgai stood tall, slight tremors moving through his frame as he called on his depleted strength to make his stand. The world in back of his black form was a sea of fire, the last stronghold of the inferno that had surrounded their battleground. The wind gusted and the flames leapt off the top of the trees, the smoke boiling into the sky above them, a solid cloud starting to blot out the sun.

Ash fell eerily through the air as a deep shadow slowly fell over them. The light of the flames replaced the lost sunlight, angry reds and golds flickering across every surface. Heat pulsed from the fire, warming the rocks around Sam and easing the chills that coursed through him. The heat filled him and strengthened him and he raised his right arm, marveling at its steadiness.

"_Yah-tah-hey_, _yee naaldlooshii_ Wilson Betzgai..." The big cat's head swung towards Sam and out of the corner of his eye Sam saw Dean take advantage of the distraction, diving for his gun. He rolled and came up with it in his hand. The panther's legs flexed as it prepared to leap. It was impossible to tell which brother was its intended target. The wind whipped around them, pushing Sam's damp hair off of his forehead and stoking the fire in back of the skinwalker into a small firestorm.

"…time to go to hell."

The Beretta jumped in Dean's hand as he pumped bullet after bullet into the creature at the same time Sam squeezed the trigger of the flaregun he had pulled from the bottom of the backpack. Light exploded from the wide barrel of the gun. The flare flew straight, burying itself in the black pelt in a shower of sparks. Dean backpedaled, putting more distance between himself and the stunned creature.

The remnants of the gel fuel Dean had spread on the black pelt explained some of what happened next, but not all of it. Sam would always believe they saw the true power of the _hataali_ on that flame drenched afternoon.

The area around the flare glowed, small fingers of flame extending outward. They spread rapidly over the black pelt even as the length of the flames grew, pushed by the gusting winds. The creature screeched in pain and rage, falling back onto its haunches and raising its face to the sky. As if fire called to fire, a sheet of flame lashed out from the wildfire behind the skinwalker. It enveloped the black form, swallowing it completely until only a silhouette was visible within the blaze.

The scream trailed off into a plaintive wail. The air around Sam darkened, the only light the figure wrapped in flames. The silhouette within the fire began to change, elongating, rising onto two legs…until it was the figure of a man, standing straight, head back, his arms held out from his sides in acceptance.

Sam stepped slowly backwards. He didn't stop moving until the screen of stone, that had once hidden his brother from him, now blocked his view of the powerful creature's final moments. It was done. He let it all go. The fear, the anger, the pain, that had been keeping him upright, all dropped away, leaving behind an insurmountable weariness. His legs buckled under him and he slowly collapsed. The ground was warm under his back, warm against his cheek. He turned his head, his eyes seeking the sky.

As quickly as they began, the winds died down and changed direction. The smoke shifted and the sky above him began to clear rapidly, the falling ash and embers moving away. Patches of blue, pure and brilliant, began to spread over him and he lost himself in them.

The rushing in his ears faded into silence, the smell of smoke drifted away, the hardness of the ground under him was just a memory, as the blue surrounded him. A figure wheeled and glided effortlessly, gracefully, through the sky high above him. It rode the thermals, higher and higher. His eyes fixed on it and a deep sense of calm bled through him as the world around him melted away.

Soft grass cushioned him, blades tickling the sides of his face as the sun warmed his body. The air was fresh, scented by the wildflowers sprinkled over the mountain meadow where he rested, and the vibrant green trees surrounding it. The lazy drone of summer insects was background music to a small flock of birds, mixed chickadees and titmice, singing as they played hopscotch through the trees.

Lilting laughter joined their song and something in Sam's chest clenched. A silhouette blocked the sky above him, backlit by the warm sunshine, it came closer as she dropped to her knees next to him. Golden curls cascaded around him, gilded by the sunshine as she leaned her face close to his.

"Jess…" Her name was a soft prayer on his lips.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Heat buffeted Dean's face and he took another step backwards. A quick glance confirmed Sam was leaning on the edge of the stone behind him. His brother looked fairly steady...considering. He had sure as hell been steady enough to do the job with the flaregun. Dean returned his attention to Betzgai, his grip tightening on the Beretta. It was still in his hand, and would stay there until the bastard was nothing but a pile of ash.

He reached a hand down and hauled Deb to her feet. There was no blood on the ripped sleeve, the panther's claws had caught nothing but the yellow nomex shirt. She didn't look at him, her eyes glued to the gruesome sight of the figure within the flames. She drew in a sharp breath when the figure began to change and Dean was sorry he hadn't warned her that skinwalkers reverted to their human form at death. Not that a warning would have softened the shock of seeing it happen in the middle of a bonfire. He couldn't help the goosebumps that ran down his own arms at the sight.

The winds shifted and the air around them began to cool as the heat was pushed away from them. Dean coughed, trying to clear the taste of smoke from the back of his throat, and gratefully pulled in a lungful of the newly clear air.

Deb looked up at the rapidly retreating cloud of smoke and shook her head, muttering. "Schizo winds."

The black silhouette curled in on itself, all signs of life gone. What was once a powerful creature was now an inanimate scarecrow being consumed by the flames. It finally crumpled completely, falling to the ground behind the stone block.

Dean lowered his head, squeezing his eyes shut. There was no elation at the creature's annihilation. This hunt had taken its pound of flesh from the brothers. The cost of the skinwalker's destruction had been high…almost too high.

He gave himself a shake and turned to face his brother. His eyes narrowed in concern at the sight of the bare stone block. Sam was probably just sitting on the other side where it was cooler.

"Sam?" Worry blossomed into full blown fear when he received no reply, and his legs took him toward the block without him even consciously willing them to move. He reached the edge and the fear morphed into panic. Sam was on the ground, his right leg straight, his left bent and tucked under it. His right arm lay across his stomach, but his left was extended out to his side, and Dean's eyes were drawn to it. It was so still, the fingers slightly curled and the palm facing the sky…and smeared with red. His forearm, his hand, gory with red. Evidence of the slow bleed that continued to trickle out fresh blood no matter how hard they tried to stop it.

Dean was by his side in two quick strides, dropping to his knees on the hard ground. "Sam?" Sam's eyes were open, fixed on the sky above them, but Dean didn't think he was actually seeing anything. His face was incredibly pale and glistening with sweat. Dean's hand trembled when he reached to lay it on Sam's chest. He needed to touch, to confirm what his eyes were telling him. That his brother's chest was still moving. It was too quick, and too shallow, but it was moving.

He cupped Sam's cheek, the gentle touch at odds with the rough skin and calluses on his fingers. Sam's skin was cool to his touch, missing the vibrancy, the heat of constant energy that always poured off of his brother. He leaned over, looking down at those staring eyes. "Sammy? C'mon, look at me, dude." His thumb stroked over Sam's cheekbone. "You're freakin me out here, Sam," he said softly, his voice catching slightly.

"Deb?" He called to her without ever tearing his eyes from his brother's face.

"Right here," she said, dropping the backpack onto the ground next to him. She crouched down and pulled fresh gauze from the pack. "Dean?" She reached up and grabbed Dean's chin, turning his face towards her. "You need to put pressure on his side. Can you do that?"

Dean felt like he was underwater, exhaustion and fear blunting his reactions to anything that was outside of the small sphere occupied by him and his brother. The sympathy on the woman's face rubbed over already painful nerves and he grabbed the white material from her hand. "Where are your people? How long's it gonna take them to get a god damn truck up here?"

"They're almost here. That's why you need to take care of Sam…so I can take care of a couple of other things before they get here. I like my job. I don't want to try to explain about skinwalkers to anybody who wasn't here. How about you?"

He nodded in understanding and returned his attention to his brother. Sam was lost somewhere in the sky above them, his eyes still fixed on some distant point. A grimace when Dean pressed against his side was the only indication that he was still present with them.

Behind him Deb retrieved Sam's gun and the shotgun and tucked them out of sight in the backpack. The flaregun was wiped down and then thrown over the block and into the flames near Betzgai's remains. He tuned out her constant transmissions over the radio with the approaching rescue team as she worked.

She apologized when she took Dean's gun from the ground next to him and also threw it in the pack. "Let's just avoid any questions until the story is straight." She fixed him with a serious stare. "And at some point you might want to tell me the whole story. Because that kidnapped innocent hiker malarkey? You know that ain't flying anymore."

Dean gave her a grateful nod when she gently straightened Sam's legs and used the pack to raise his feet. She laid her hand on Dean's shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze. "I'm going over to the top of the spur to meet the guys. They're gonna have to walk from the spur to here, then they'll probably package Sam in a stokes and take him right to the truck, okay?"

"Yeah, just…hurry them up. Okay, Deb?" His voice wavered and he hastily tore his eyes away from her. She gave his shoulder one last squeeze before turning to trot away.

Dean's face crumpled once he was alone with his brother. The controlled mask slipped away, replaced by naked fear. His heart hammered in his chest and he drew in several long shaky breaths before leaning over to look into Sam's face again. He tried to take comfort from the movement of Sam's chest under his left hand. "C'mon, Major Tom, time to come back to earth. Bad guy is toasted and it's time to celebrate. Alright, Sam? We're gonna celebrate. Just as soon as you get your ass back here with me."

Dean's eyes burned, but he couldn't bring himself to take his hand off of Sam's chest to wipe at them, some hidden part of him convinced that it was that connection that was keeping Sam's chest moving He spoke softly, soothingly, remembering how the sound of his voice would comfort Sam when he was a child, would ease his fears and soothe his pain when he was ill. "We're almost outta here Sam. A little trip to the hospital and you'll be back to your usual pain in the ass self. Maybe we'll take a couple of days off and go do something fun. How's that sound? Just say the word, tell me where you want to go." He cleared a sudden thickness from his throat and continued in a whisper. "Just say the word, Sammy."

Voices were coming closer, Deb's and several male voices. Dean lifted his head to see if they were in sight and almost missed the movement of Sam's lips. They were moving but no sound was coming out. "Sam? Hey! You decide to join me here?" The smile twitching at Dean's lips froze and then faded when Sam's eyes slid shut, a soft name on his lips.

"No, no, no, no…you stay with me Sam, you hear me? You stay with me! Sammy, god damn it! Don't you do this! Open your eyes Sam!"

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Jess was soft and warm next to him, lying on her side with her right hand resting lightly on his chest. The pain was numbed, the constant fear at bay. Over the past ten months fear had become an ingrained part of his life again. The fear of losing someone else that he loved. The fear of failing them Fear of what new horrors the day would bring. The fear of what new horrors he would find within himself.

White clouds scudded through the blue above him, the hawk weaving in and out of sight. "I'm so tired, Jess," he said softly, allowing his eyes to slide shut. She felt even closer to him with his eyes closed.

He couldn't see the hawk in this new darkness, and he was surprised at the sudden sense of desolation his loss caused. A voice called to him, reminding him of promises made and not yet kept.

"_You stay with me! Sammy, god damn it! Don't you do this! Open your eyes Sam!"_

He fought to open them. He had meant it when he said he wasn't leaving again. He couldn't go back on his word.

But he was just so damn tired.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

_Diné_ 'The People', the Navajo people

_yee nadlooshii_ "beings that travel on four legs", Skinwalkers

_hataali_ Navajo religious singer, ceremonial singer, healer

_yah-tah-hey_ Navajo greeting


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N**: Happy New Year!

I'm sorry updates were slow over the holidays. Things were…hmmm…'nuts' doesn't really seem to cover it. Not to mention my computer has been showing signs of schizophrenia. This is a shorter update than usual. Thank you for your patience and for sticking with the story. I will try to get caught up with responding to the reviews. They all are so incredibly valuable to me.

A quick note about Chapter 16. I should have put it at the end of that chapter. Fire is an important part of many Navajo ceremonies. As I alluded to in the story, it played a part in Betzgai's choice of the setting for his confrontations with the hunters. Unfortunately for the witch, in many of those ceremonies fire is used to cleanse evil.

**Thank you** to Brenna, the benevolent queen of the SFTCOL(AR)S board, for your help with the IVs.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine, no profits made, thanks for letting me play.

**From chapter 16**:

_Jess was soft and warm next to him, lying on her side with her right hand resting lightly on his chest. The pain was numbed, the constant fear at bay. Over the past ten months fear had become an ingrained part of his life again. The fear of losing someone else that he loved. The fear of failing them Fear of what new horrors the day would bring. The fear of what new horrors he would find within himself._

_White clouds scudded through the blue above him, the hawk weaving in and out of sight. "I'm so tired, Jess," he said softly, allowing his eyes to slide shut. She felt even closer to him with his eyes closed._

_He couldn't see the hawk in this new darkness, and he was surprised at the sudden sense of desolation his loss caused. A voice called to him, reminding him of promises made and not yet kept._

"_You stay with me! Sammy, god damn it! Don't you do this! Open your eyes Sam!"_

_He fought to open them. He had meant it when he said he wasn't leaving again. He couldn't go back on his word._

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**Hozho Ch 17**

He didn't want to listen when they started to call out the figures that would confirm that his brother was going into shock from blood loss. The too high respirations, the thready, rapid pulse, cold clammy skin. Numbers that proved his brother's body was shutting down.

Dean sat in dazed silence, watching their sure and efficient movements as they worked over Sam. He was secured in the stokes stretcher with an oxygen mask firmly in place within minutes. Dean was on his feet and ready to grab one of the corners of the basket when Deb's hand on his arm stopped him.

"You're exhausted. Let them do it, it'll be quicker," she said gently. She handed him the backpack with a pointed look. "Why don't you take care of this?"

"Where are they going to take him?" Dean was moving on automatic pilot as they made their way across the blocks, his eyes fixed on his brother's silent form.

"The trucks will take us back to the Drive. There's a squad there waiting…an ambulance," she amended at his confused look. "The squad will take him to the hospital in Harrisonburg."

"Better than that," one of the men at the foot of the stretcher interrupted. "The squad will take him to Loft. They've got a medical helicopter waiting there."

"A chopper? What about the winds?" Deb asked with a frown.

"What winds? They died out over an hour ago."

"Ed, it was windy as hell up here no more than twenty minutes ago," Deb insisted. "Blew up a nice little firestorm."

Ed gave a one shouldered shrug. "Don't know what to tell you Deb. Must have been one of those freaky fire things. Nobody else reported any winds since they died down."

Deb and Dean exchanged a glance. Dean shook his head, urging her to drop it. You were better off not knowing the answers to some questions.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The ride from the block field to the Drive with the stokes stretcher secured on the back of a brush truck had been harrowing, the landscape they traveled through surreal. The tightly packed trees that had blanketed the hillside had been transformed into smoking black trunks. The stench of burnt wood was so heavy in the air Dean began to wonder if he would ever be free of it.

They'd been separated when they reached the Drive, Sam whisked into a waiting ambulance. Dean had argued, trying to stay with his brother, but had ended up in a Forest Service pickup truck, following the boxy ambulance to the Loft Wayside.

He should have stuck to his guns, he should have been stronger and insisted he stay with his brother. Because now he was standing helplessly in a parking lot, staring at closed ambulance doors. The longer the seconds stretched out, the more nauseous he became.

Footsteps scuffed over the pavement towards him and Deb nudged him with her elbow as she settled into place next to him. "Working on that laser vision, trying to melt the doors?" she asked.

"What's taking so long?" Dean bit out.

"They're probably just getting him packaged for the flight medics." She nodded at the sleek medical helicopter sitting in a field next to the wayside. Two men in flightsuits with heavy medical bags over their shoulders were climbing out of the chopper.

There was a muted thumping from the ambulance doors and Dean's stomach clenched in anticipation. He stood straighter and took a small step towards the doors. He wanted to see his brother. He needed to see his brother.

The doors opened with anticlimactic slowness. Two medics calmly climbed out while the EMT remaining in the rig lowered the wheeled stretcher. They rolled it forward and wheels extended downwards as it cleared the back of the ambulance. Deb stepped away from him and moved over to talk to the rig's driver as he climbed out.

The head of the stretcher was lower than the foot, and Sam's feet blocked Dean's view of his brother's face at first. In slow motion they turned the stretcher towards the helicopter and Dean quickly stepped to its side. Sam's face was turned towards him. Half of it was covered by the oxygen mask, the skin that was showing was pale except for where it was streaked with dirt and soot. Dean reached a hand out and brushed Sam's bangs out of his eyes. Normally so expressive, communicating a dozen different things at once, they were closed, leaving Dean feeling cut off and alone. An ache started in his stomach and moved up to his chest.

His eyes slipped away from Sam's face and his mouth went dry when he finally noticed Sam's neck. The angle of Sam's head exposed the right side of his neck, stretching the skin there, making it look smooth and vulnerable. A large patch had been wiped clean of the dirt and greasy ash but now had an orange-brownish cast to it. A catheter had been inserted into his neck in the center of the patch, the hub taped in place and attached to clear IV tubing. He had seen the same setup on his brother's arm, on his OWN arm, far too many times. But on his neck, on top of his jugular, it looked grotesque. On his neck it made him look…helpless…weak and hurt.

He pointed at the IV site. "What…why…" His voice was just a croak and Deb returned to his side.

"It's not as bad as it looks," she started.

"That's good, because it looks pretty freakin' bad," Dean interrupted, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"It's okay, Dean," she said quietly, sounding as though she was trying to calm a frightened child. "His pressure was too low, they couldn't get a vein in his arms. It's okay."

"It's a lot of things. Okay isn't one of them."

Bit by bit the world began to crash down around Dean and each piece that fell hit him hard. He hadn't realized how strong his hope had been until it was pulled away from him. Hope that when Sam came out of the ambulance he'd be sporting an IV in each arm, a clean white bandage on his side, and his eyes would be open. Groggy…okay, he could handle groggy. But he'd be awake. It might have been an unrealistic hope, but it held him up when his own legs wanted to give up the fight.

Now that support was gone and it all started to hit. Days of tension and arguments with Sam, resentment and closely held fears that had almost ripped them apart. The unbearable stress of knowing his brother was out of his reach in Betzgai's hands. Watching the slow deterioration of Sam's condition over the last twelve hours and being helpless to stop it. Now help had reached them, and to Dean's eyes it still looked grim.

It all crashed down on him. He was battered and bruised, exhausted beyond comprehension, and the weight of the world…at least the weight of HIS world…was suddenly pushing down on his shoulders. The low hum that had been hovering on the edge of his hearing gained volume, blotting out the noises around him. Deb's lips were moving, but he couldn't make out the words. Her eyes started to crinkle with concern and he wanted to blast her, tell her he was okay and she should worry about Sam. But he couldn't get the words out. The edges of her face in front of him started to blur and the grey that had been edging his vision since they left the block field began to darken and expand. His legs were numb, he couldn't seem to make them do what he wanted…couldn't make them continue to follow the stretcher toward the helicopter…couldn't make them continue to hold him upright.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Dean leaned against the doorjamb, his eyes running over the impressive array of equipment and lights in the small room. It reminded him of a small operating room and seemed to have everything…except his brother. Bloody gauze was piled on a stainless steel tray near the examination table. His eyes rested briefly on the red drops spattered over the cover of the table. Empty wrappers were stuffed in a white plastic bag sitting on the floor next to the table as though someone had already started cleaning up the room. He leaned back and looked at the placard next to the door, confirming it was Trauma One.

The only information he'd been able to worm out of the nurse who'd set up his own IV was that Sam was in Trauma One. WAS in Trauma One. Now he wasn't. Dean was too late, and he just didn't want to follow the paths that his mind was wandering down on that score.

He dropped his head and squeezed his eyes shut, pressing hard on the small piece of gauze that he had slapped over the dot of blood than welled up after he pulled out his own IV. The bag of fluids had been empty, he wasn't going to waste any more time in the examination room waiting for word on his brother. Dehydration, exhaustion, lack of food, slight concussion…he had been completely unimpressed by the list of his own ailments the doc had spieled off. Yeah, yeah, been there, done that, got at least a dozen T shirts already. Now where the hell was his brother?

He backed out of the doorway and stepped in front of a petite blonde in brightly patterned scrubs who was bustling down the hallway. "Where's the guy who was in here? Sam Walker?"

Her smile was the type of patently false contrivance that screamed out that she was too busy to deal with him. "I'm sorry, I don't know." She looked at the white bandage on his forehead. "Are you being examined by a doctor? You really need to get back to your—"

Dean flashed an innocent smile as he interrupted her. "No, no, I'm just looking for my brother."

Her hand on his arm turned him to face the doors at the end of the hall. "Then you really shouldn't be back here. Ask at the desk in the waiting room, they might be able to give you some information or page your brother's doctor for you."

That would probably be quicker than tearing the building apart one brick at a time. He dropped the smile and headed towards the doors without another word. Somebody around here was going to tell him where his brother was or he would share with them exactly how unpleasant a pissed off Winchester could be.

The 'desk' was actually more of a counter bordering a small area filled with computers and file cabinets, rolling desk chairs and stacks of medical forms. It was right next to the wide swinging doors leading to the examination rooms, giving it the appearance of being the guardhouse to the inner sanctum. He had probably been wheeled right past it when they took him back to the examination room, but he had no memory of it. Things got a little hazy after he had come close to collapsing in the wayside parking lot. And somewhere in the middle of that murky time he had lost track of his brother.

A middle aged man in a short sleeve dress shirt and too short tie sat on one of the desk chairs pecking at a computer when Dean walked up. He peered up at Dean through thick glasses and smiled pleasantly.

"Can I help you?"

"My brother, Sam Walker, he was in Trauma One but he's not there now. Can you tell me where they took him?" Dean took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.

The man began pecking at the computer. "And you are…?"

"Dean Walker. Look, she knows who I am," he said, pointing at the young woman who had brought him Sam's medical forms to fill out while his own IV was slowly draining.

"Walker…Samuel?" The man looked up at Dean and waited for him to nod before he continued. "He was in Trauma one…" The man's eyebrows shot up. "Ohhhh…THAT young man. The mountain lion attack," he said, his voice tinged with awe. He began shaking his head and making a 'tsking' sound as he looked up at Dean in sympathy. "He's been transferred to the ICU."

"Intensive care?" Dean's voice was a strained whisper and he cleared his throat. "It's that…" He ran his hand through his hair and sagged against the counter. "How is he? Can I talk to his doctor?"

The clerk's eyes shifted from Dean's face to over the hunter's shoulder and widened. He visibly swallowed before ducking his head and concentrating on the keyboard in front of him.

Dean's shoulders tensed, preparing for battle as he turned. His own doctor stood behind him. The silver haired man held a chart against his chest, his arms folded over it. He fixed Dean with a steady look that stopped just a hair short of a glare.

"How about if you start by talking to me?" the doctor asked with a hint of exasperation.

His manner when dealing with Dean's injuries had been straightforward and competent, and Dean really didn't want to engage him in a battle of wills now. But this was his little brother he was trying to look out for, and he would fight anyone who got in his way.

"Dr. Stewart," Dean acknowledged, his voice clipped.

"Mr. Walker, I told you I would find out what I could about your brother and give you an update when I checked on you. The deal was that you let us take care of you in the meantime." The doctor held a hand up when Dean's face took on a mulish cast. "I kept my part of the bargain, how about you?"

Dean swallowed thickly and his face fell into a look of pleading when he realized that this man held the information he craved. The doctor's eyes softened. "Obviously your concern for your brother outweighs your concern for yourself, so I'll make a new deal with you. I tell you what I found out about Sam, and in return you let me check you over and see if the fluids we gave you did the trick," he said with a slight smile.

Dean nodded in mute agreement and Dr. Stewart took his arm and led him down to the end of the counter where they could have a bit more privacy. The chatter and noise of the busy waiting room faded away as Dean concentrated on the doctor in front of him.

"Dr. Lee took care of Sam in the Trauma room, but he's busy preparing for the victims of a multi-casualty MVA who are on their way in. He asked if I could give you this update because I also spent some time with your brother in Trauma One." He glanced down at papers on the clipboard in his hand and looked back up, his face grim. "I think you're aware that things were a little dicey when Sam was still in the field."

Dean squeezed his hands into fists to still their trembling and gave another quick nod, still not trusting his voice.

"He's a pretty banged up young man from the ordeal the two of you went through, but the biggest threat by far is the blood loss and related shock. He was in what we consider moderate shock by the time he arrived here. Serious, but with the proper care, not irreversible. Dr. Lee focused on stemming the blood loss and replacing the volume he's lost."

"I don't know what I was doing wrong," Dean said softly. "It just wouldn't stop bleeding."

The doctor shook his head. "You didn't do anything wrong," he said reassuringly. "You did everything you could've done under the circumstances by keeping pressure on it. That was enough to stop the bleeding from the three superficial lacerations."

He moved his lab coat aside and drew a line across his left side under his ribs with his index finger. "This one was the troublemaker. It went a good bit deeper and caused some vascular damage. There was no way to stop that bleeding completely without repairing that damage. The good news is that Dr. Lee examined the wound and was able to determine that it did not extend all the way through the surface layers and into the abdominal cavity."

Dean looked at him blankly.

"In other words, Dr. Lee was able to repair the vascular damage in the trauma room and we don't think Sam will need more intrusive procedures," Dr. Stewart explained. "And he's been responding very well to the transfusions he's receiving. Because of the delay in treatment, for right now we'll be packing the wound itself and we'll evaluate it for delayed closure when we're sure we've nipped any infection in the bud."

"There's infection?" Dean was numb, trying to process the wealth of information that was being handed to him. But certain words tended to jump out at you when you were a hunter. The specter of infection was scarier than many of the creatures they faced. His fear was plain to hear in his voice, and the doctor rushed to calm him.

"The wound was just starting to show some signs of it, we caught it very early. We've already started him on antibiotics that should knock it right out," he answered. "You did a fine job cleaning the wounds."

"That wasn't me," Dean admitted, torn between guilt that he wasn't there to help his brother when Sam needed him, and resentment that the bastard that had caused the injury was the one to take care of Sam.

Dr. Stewart's face clouded with confusion for just a moment, but then he gave a little shrug and looked down at the chart he was holding before he continued. "Dr. Lee was also a little concerned about the bruising around your brother's neck, and evidence of recent head trauma. He sent Sam for a CT of his head and neck to rule them out as causes for his altered consciousness. The results just came back on that and everything looks fine." He gave the last bit of information with a grin.

Dean just stared at him, wondering what he had missed. "So, you're saying Sam's doing okay?"

"As I said, he's responded well to the transfusions he's receiving. He hasn't regained consciousness yet, but his vitals are stabilizing."

"Then why is he in Intensive Care?"

"That's SOP in cases of shock such as your brother's. We'll be keeping a close eye on him to make sure the shock didn't cause more damage than we're aware of. But if he continues to improve…if he regains consciousness, there's no sign of worsening infection, his kidneys return to normal function…then it's very likely he'll be moved to a regular room tomorrow."

There was a growing tightness in the back of Dean's throat and his eyes began to swim with embarrassing tears. He dropped his gaze to the floor and began to blink rapidly, trying to regain control over his emotions. This was _good_ news, this was definitely not the time to go all emo. His shoulders slumped and he drew in a deep shaky breath before raising his eyes back up to the doctor. "Can I see him?"

"That's where your end of the bargain comes into play," Dr. Stewart said, his grin taking on shades of a smirk that said he knew he had Dean where he wanted him. "You let me check you out—make sure you're not about to collapse again…"

"Okay," Dean agreed quickly.

The doctor held his hand up in a gesture that was starting to get annoying. "That's not all. It's going to take a little time for them to get Sam settled, so when we're done I want you to get something to eat and start taking in some fluids. You agree to that and I'll give you the okay to see your brother."

"Yeah, whatever. Agreed."

"There's just one problem." The doctor folded his arms across his chest. "I don't think I can trust you to follow my instructions."

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," Dean whined.

Dr. Stewart planted his feet, doing his best impression of an immovable object. "Nope, I'm not kidding. Is there someone here with you that I can trust to make sure you follow through?"

Dean's mouth hung open in astonishment. The guy was treating him like a friggin' five year old. The fact that he had planned on heading directly to the ICU as soon as Stewart was done prodding him was beside the point. He snapped his mouth shut and did a quick survey of the waiting room, hoping to see Deb's stocky figure sprawled in one of the chairs. The last he had seen of her she had been standing outside of his exam room waving her arms to get his attention and pointing to the backpack hanging safely from her shoulder.

No such luck. She was no where in sight. He turned back to the doctor wishing he possessed Sam's negotiating skills.

"I'll make sure he follows orders, Doctor," a deep voice said from behind him.

Dean's head snapped around to look over his shoulder and he went completely still, his eyes widening.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Once again Dean found himself leaning in the doorway of an equipment filled room. Wires trailed from his brother to a Star Wars type machine that seemed to be monitoring every vital statistic of his brother's body, including rate of hair growth. Sam's large frame was almost too big for the bed he occupied, and yet he looked like a child in it. He was too pale, too still.

Hesitant steps brought him closer to his brother's side and his mind was able to start comprehending details. Someone had wiped the dirt and ash off of Sam's skin, and the bruises were harshly evident. Dean's stomach clenched at the sight of them. His neck, his jaw…even some intermingled with the electrodes on his bare chest. The oxygen mask had been replaced with a nasal cannula, making it easy for Dean to see the lines of pain and stress tightening the skin around Sam's mouth.

Dean was grateful that the IV had been removed from Sam's neck. A tube carried a thick reddish liquid from a bag suspended over Sam to the crook of his right arm. Clear liquid ran through a different tube to a catheter taped into place near his left wrist. The top of a white bandage peeked out from the edge of the blanket drawn halfway up Sam's chest, and Dean was surprised at the small white bandage on Sam's right arm. He had actually forgotten about the earlier bite injuries. He would assume they were healing okay since they hadn't been mentioned in Dr. Stewart's report.

The machine next to the bed hummed and beeped softly, the figures it displayed giving weight to the doctor's reassurances. Dean had believed Dr. Stewart's report, but it hadn't felt real. Not until now. Not until he saw Sammy with his own two eyes. He watched Sam's bare chest rising and falling…so much slower, so much easier than out on those rocks surrounded by fire.

He sank down onto the plastic chair next to the bed and transferred his gaze to Sam's face. He needed Sam's eyes to open. That would be the final step to erasing the dread that had filled him on those rocks. It would be the final step in convincing him that he wasn't about to lose his brother.

Because of the placement of the IV, Sam's right arm was slightly twisted, the palm of his hand facing up. Almost on its own Dean's hand reached forward, until it was hovering above Sam's right wrist. It held steady for a moment above the dark thread of veins visible through the pale skin on the underside of his wrist. He lowered it gently until his fingertips were just lightly brushing the soft skin there, afraid it would still be cold, still clammy.

Instead, a gentle warmth radiated from the skin. Not the heat of fever, merely the normal warmth of his little brother asleep. The warmth that he had felt hundreds of times over the years when he tucked his brother into bed, or checked on him during the night.

He lowered his hand the rest of the way, resting it on Sam's skin. It might have been wishful thinking, but he swore the tension around Sam's mouth eased a bit at his touch. His thumb slipped around to the back of Sam's wrist and began to move back and forth gently.

"I'm here, Sammy. It's all good kiddo. You're going to be fine."

He edged the chair forward a bit so that he could sit back without releasing his hold on Sam and began the wait for his little brother to wake up.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**A/N**: Yes, I'm sad to say things are drawing to a close. Hey! I heard that cheering! Cut it out! This hasn't been THAT long….oh, okay, maybe it was. blush sorry about that. I don't know when to shut up sometimes.

Same endnotes since we're almost to the end? Feel free to ignore. LOL

As you might have noticed, music is very important to me. This entire fic basically came about because I was listening to Snow Patrol when I ran one day, and their song "Finish Line" just grabbed me. The end of Ch 16, when Sam is laying on the rocks looking at the sky, came directly from that song. That was the first image in my head when I decided to write a story. The next image was the anger between the brothers. That came from "Can't Take It" from All American Rejects.

Don't you feel like life should come with a soundtrack?


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N**: Yes, this update has been long in coming. No excuses, other than the fact I had a very hard time working on this chapter. I knew this was the last chapter, and I am just so sad to be ending the story. I feel like so many of you are friends now, and I will truly miss you.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine, no profits made, thanks for letting me play.

**From chapter 17**:

_He sank down onto the plastic chair next to the bed and transferred his gaze to Sam's face. He needed Sam's eyes to open. That would be the final step to erasing the dread that had filled him on those rocks. It would be the final step in convincing him that he wasn't about to lose his brother._

_Because of the placement of the IV, Sam's right arm was slightly twisted, the palm of his hand facing up. Almost on its own Dean's hand reached forward, until it was hovering above Sam's right wrist. It held steady for a moment above the dark thread of veins visible through the pale skin on the underside of his wrist. He lowered it gently until his fingertips were just lightly brushing the soft skin there, afraid it would still be cold, still clammy._

_Instead, a gentle warmth radiated from the skin. Not the heat of fever, merely the normal warmth of his little brother asleep. The warmth that he had felt hundreds of times over the years when he tucked his brother into bed, or checked on him during the night._

_He lowered his hand the rest of the way, resting it on Sam's skin. It might have been wishful thinking, but he swore the tension around Sam's mouth eased a bit at his touch. His thumb slipped around to the back of Sam's wrist and began to move back and forth gently._

"_I'm here, Sammy. It's all good kiddo. You're going to be fine."_

_He edged the chair forward a bit so that he could sit back without releasing his hold on Sam and began the wait for his little brother to wake up._

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

**Hozho Chapter 18**

Sam was floating.

It was dark and peaceful, the only sound a low beeping. He felt safe, watched over and protected. He was content to drift for a while, caught in the strands of a dream of warm sunshine and golden curls.

The dream faded and he was sad as it slipped away, but he didn't try to hold on to it because he sensed it wasn't the right time for that dream. He was somehow sure that now, at this time, there was someplace else he was supposed to be. A place where someone was waiting for him. He could feel their presence in the deepest part of him. There was no urgency to the feeling, just a steady reassurance. He knew…he trusted…that the person would wait as long as they had to. They wouldn't leave him alone.

And so he rested. Until the desire to reach that warm presence grew so strong he could no longer ignore it and he began to push through the darkness.

Numbness was replaced by heaviness in his side and the dull thud of a headache. He turned his head, trying to ease an ache in his neck. The movement triggered new sounds, low murmurs that joined the beeping.

He followed them like a beacon leading him home, and they coalesced into actual words, into a voice that was as much a part of him as his own.

"That's it Sammy. Come on…open your eyes for me. Come on man, I'm getting bored just sitting here. Your nurse is a guy and you don't even have a TV."

_Dean…_ This was where he was supposed to be. A slight grin pulled at the corners of Sam's mouth and Dean's voice changed. It became a little faster, a little louder, more nervous and happier all at the same time.

"Hey! C'mon Sleeping Beauty! I know you're in there. C'mon out."

He turned his head again, facing toward the sound of his brother's voice. Dean's voice dropped a bit and Sam could hear the need laced through it, the traces of fear. "C'mon, Sammy. Enough's enough dude. You've gotta open your eyes and let me know you're all right. The doctors say you're doing okay…but you've got to open your eyes for me, man."

It was harder than Sam expected to pry them open. He felt like he was moving in slow motion, but millimeter by millimeter his view of the world expanded. Green eyes stared at him from under lowered eyebrows, filled with a hope so intense it was almost a demand. Pressure increased on his right wrist, anchoring him.

Sam's hand stirred, his fingers reaching for the solid warmth on his wrist, and the weight moved. Instead of retreating it moved closer to his questing fingers until it covered the bottom of his hand. Sam's long fingers found the purchase they were seeking, pressing against the back of Dean's hand, his hard knuckles and strong fingers.

He drew from the strength there and held tight as he fought to open his eyes the rest of the way. The creases cutting across Dean's forehead smoothed as a smile began to curve his lips.

"Hey Rip," he said softly, "you with me here?" The slightest hint of 'Smartass Dean' made its way into his tone. "Just blink once for yes."

Sam rolled his eyes and mouthed the word 'jerk'.

The corners of Dean's eyes crinkled as a huge smile lit his face. "I was starting to think I had to find a handsome prince to come kiss you." He leaned closer and whispered. "I don't know how to tell you this, Sammy, but I think your nurse would have volunteered." He sat back in his chair, giving Sam's wrist a final squeeze before dropping his hand into his lap. Sam could still feel the heat and weight of the touch, even with the hand gone. He could still feel it anchoring him.

Sam's eyes moved around the room and he took in his surroundings as the last several days put themselves in order in his mind. Things were a bit hazy towards the end. He opened his mouth but no sound came out at first. It took a couple of tries before he was able to get out one word in a simple croak.

"Betzgai?"

Dean's smile dimmed a bit and his eyes clouded. "He's done. Crispy critter. Do you remember what happened?"

Sam didn't trust his voice to work a second time and gave a little nod.

Dean glanced over his shoulder and leaned in close to the bed again. "Alright, listen up. They're going to be in to check on you any second. Remember the names on the ID's? Sam and Dean Walker. If anybody asks…we're bounty hunters chasing Betzgai." Dean's grin was back to its full brilliance. "Just call me 'Dog'!"

Sam narrowed his eyes in confusion.

"Don't sweat it, I'll explain more when you're really awake. I'll be in here with you to head anybody off who wants to ask questions." The smile turned into a smirk. "Visitors in the ICU usually get kicked out pretty quick, but we're getting special consideration." His eyes positively gleamed with glee. "Dude, we're heroes!"

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

The climb out of darkness got easier each time. The beeping was quieted, the nasal cannula no longer needed. Most of the catheters and wires that had been hooked to his body were gone and he could move now without the tape holding them in place pulling at his skin.

He was in no rush to open his eyes, luxuriating in the lack of any major pain and the feel of a clean bed under him. For a Winchester that was practically the definition of a vacation. If Dean had the TV turned on he must have had it muted, because the only sound was the slow rustle of turning pages.

He vaguely remembered Dean attempting hushed and hurried conversations a couple of times when he woke in the ICU, but he was drawing a blank as to the gist of those rushed words. Except that they were bounty hunters named Walker. Dean seemed inordinately pleased with that turn of events.

There were some hazy memories of the move into a private room, and the doctor saying the exhaustion was to be expected after all he'd been through. That memory stuck with him because he'd had to hold in a laugh at the sight of Dean behind the doctor's back, rolling his eyes because the doctor didn't know the half of it. They weren't about to explain that Sam was most likely also suffering the aftereffects of being witched.

Sam cracked his eyes open slowly and blinked at the sunshine pouring through the windows facing the foot of his bed. The head of the bed was slightly raised, giving him a clear view of the backlit figure relaxing in the chair in front of the windows, slowly turning the pages of a magazine.

"Dean." Sips of water the last time he was awake had eased the dryness and his voice was stronger.

"_Yah-tah-hey_, Samuel," a deep voice answered.

Sam's world froze. A feeling of equal parts disbelief and dread started at the top of his head and swept down his body, taking what little color he had regained with it.

The figure stood and his height and the width of his shoulders was enough to block the sunlight as he began to move towards Sam. Sam pushed himself against the head of the bed, awakening the dull pain in his side. His eyes cast around the room, looking for a weapon, for some way to defend himself. The remaining IV in the back of his wrist pulled as he twisted to grab the edge of his blanket, ready to free his legs from its confines. Where was Dean?

"Whoa! Whoa! Calm down son!" The figure held his hands up above his shoulders in a gesture of surrender and stepped to the side so that the sunlight illuminated his form and features.

Sam began to see the differences. This man was big, but not as freakishly huge as Betzgai. His hair was longer and jet black, missing the touches of gray. His face and nose were broader. But perhaps the biggest difference was that this man's face was alive. It didn't look like a painted mask over a husk empty of emotions.

Sam slumped against the head of the bed, the adrenaline rush draining away as quickly as it had exploded inside of him.

The man dropped his hands and lowered his head apologetically. "I am sorry I startled you. You and I have never actually spoken, but I've talked to your brother several times. I'm Nathan Betzgai."

"Where's Dean?" Sam's eyes darted around the room, searching, finally settling on the private room's open door as if he expected to see his brother walk through it any second.

"He left with a woman from the Forest Service. She was taking him to retrieve his car from the park. You were asleep when he left, but he assured me that he had told you about his errand, and about me, when you were awake."

Sam ran his hand through his hair and grimaced. "I think he told me a lot of things, I just don't remember any of them. Was it Deb he left with?"

Nathan nodded. "I believe that was her name. She seemed to know you both. She left them for you." He nodded at the small table next to his bed. A battered looking paper plate covered with crinkled aluminum foil sat on the edge of it. Nathan looked at Sam and his eyebrows drew down in confusion.

"She said to tell you they were male brownies."

Sam began to chuckle. "That means they have nuts," he explained, feeling like he was on steadier ground as the man smiled. The smile was warm and generous. Sam held his hand out for a belated hand shake and Nathan reached out slowly to grasp it. He held onto Sam's hand while his eyes searched Sam's face.

"My family owes you a great debt," Nathan finally said. His voice was low and rich, lightly accented by his Navajo heritage.

"I think it's Dean and I who should be thanking you," Sam replied.

Nathan released his hand and pulled the bedside chair closer to Sam before settling himself down into it. "Are you familiar with the concept of _hozho_?" he asked.

"I'm familiar with the concept, but I don't know if I truly understand it," Sam answered truthfully.

"I have never tried to explain this to someone who is not…" The Navajo officer trailed off and stared steadily at Sam for a moment before continuing. "I think you are not like other _biligaana_. I think you understand there is more to the world than most _biligaana_ see. To put it very simply, my people, the _Diné_, believe that everything is interconnected." He held his hands up and laced his fingers together.

"There is a very fine balance between all things. Between all the creatures and the earth they walk on…between health and illness…between the members of a family—a clan…between the people and the _Yei_—the holy ones…between good and evil. _Hozho_ is harmony between these parts, it is balance, it is beauty. When _hozho_ is disturbed, the balance lost, there is much suffering. There is misfortune, there is discord between brothers, there is illness…until _hozho_ is restored."

Nathan looked down into his lap, silent for a moment as his expression contorted in grief. He ran a hand over his face and took a deep breath before looking back up at Sam, his features calm. "My cousin's actions disrupted _hozho_ for my people, for my clan, and we have suffered greatly because of it. Dealing with my cousin is just part of restoring the balance we have lost. But it was the most important part, and it has eluded us until now. I thank you for giving us the opportunity to help right things."

Sam nodded, accepting the man's thanks. He knew some of what the man was feeling first hand. The loss of balance between him and Dean had almost led to disaster.

Whatever comment Sam might have made was lost when a whirlwind in the form of Dean Winchester appeared in the doorway. Dean's eyes lit up when he saw his brother sitting up and a relieved smile chased the last of the worry lines from the sides of his mouth. "Jesus, Sammy! Are you finally awake? I mean REALLY awake?"

Dean edged his way past Nathan's chair to stand next to Sam's bed. He held a large cardboard cup of coffee in his right hand. His left hand was busy trying to unobtrusively reach behind his back and snake a brownie off of the foil covered plate.

Sam's eyebrows lowered and he scowled when Dean brought the square of chocolate to his mouth.

Dean smiled around a big bite of brownie. "Don't worry, I left you some," he said, spraying crumbs. His expression turned serious and he ran his eyes over his brother. "Seriously, man, how you feeling?"

"I'm still a little tired, but fine. How are YOU doing?" Sam, in turn, examined his brother. Brief flashes came back to him of Dean at the side of his bed every time his eyes opened. A Dean who looked like he should be the one IN the bed. Eyes red and smudged with black underneath, skin pale and unshaven, but still a welcome sight that made Sam feel warm and protected every time.

Dean had obviously stopped at the hotel on his way by in the Impala. His clothes were fresh and his hair still damp from the shower. He was a little pale and looked sleep deprived, but he looked a hell of a lot better than he did earlier. The relaxed smile might have had something to do with that.

"Me?" Dean's smile widened. "I'm doing great!"

There was a loud snort from the room's doorway and Dean's expression froze.

"Yeah, you gonna tell him how you fainted in the Loft parking lot?" Deb asked with a smirk as she walked into the room.

"You what?!"

"I did not faint!"

The brothers spoke simultaneously, one's voice tinged with fear, the other indignation. And both loud.

"I didn't faint. I don't 'faint'," Dean explained, scowling at Deb. "I just got a little wobbly."

"Okay Mr. Weeble," Deb said. She walked to the foot of Sam's bed, still smirking. "Wobbly my ass. You practically face planted."

"Dean?" Sam's eyes were wide and worried.

"I'm fine Sam. I was a little dehydrated, a little tired, nothing new," he said with a twist of his mouth. He met Sam's eyes and his expression grew serious. "I really am fine, Sam. They gave me an IV and I was good to go."

"He is telling the truth, son," Nathan said quietly. "His doctor seemed…mostly pleased with how well he followed directions. He even followed doctor's orders and ate."

Dean gave a little shrug. "What can I say? I'm a model patient."

Sam raised a single eyebrow and looked back and forth between Nathan and Deb. "Which one of you forced him to eat?"

Deb raised her hand and pointed at Nathan.

"Then I owe you another sincere thank you, Nathan."

Nathan stood up, shaking his head. "No thanks necessary. I am in your debt." He stepped to the side of the bed and looked down at Sam with a slight smile. "We will talk some more, but right now I believe I should leave you with your friend and your brother while I call my home."

"I'd like it if we could talk some more, later," Sam said simply, lifting his hand to shake Nathan's. He was surprised at the amount of effort the small gesture required.

Nathan turned to Dean and the two shook hands without a word, just exchanging a quick nod. Sam got the impression they had already covered some territory together.

Deb stepped into Nathan's spot near the bed when the big man moved towards the door. "I've got to go too, sweetie. Gotta get back to work." She leaned over and wrapped her arms around him, her hug amazingly gentle, the warmth of it seeping into him. When she straightened up there were tears in her eyes. She laid her hand against his cheek, her palm rough against his skin. "I'm really glad you're doing better, hon. You got me a little nervous…and you scared the hell out of your brother." She dropped her hand to her side and smiled at him as she started to turn away. "I'll be back later."

"Hey Deb? How are things going out at the fire?"

Sam's words stopped her halfway to the door. She turned with a huge smile on her face. "The winds died down, and we're kicking its butt! I'll give you a blow by blow later. Good times, baby! Good times!"

The room was quiet when the two were gone, the brothers taking the opportunity to really look each other over.

Dean sank down on the chair next to the bed. "That was a close one, dude," he said, shaking his head.

"Too close," Sam agreed.

A sudden smile lit Dean's face. "Did Nathan bring you up to speed?"

"Dude," Sam snorted, "my wheels aren't even on the road, much less up to speed. What the hell were you trying to tell me all those times I woke up? I don't remember any of it."

"I'll give you a quick rundown because the cops are gonna be here as soon as they hear you're awake. Whatever they ask that you're not sure of, just play like you're still groggy. The doc will back you up. Don't worry, they're not going to dig too deep. The Feds aren't going to want it to get out how they've had a serial killer roaming the country and they didn't even know it."

Sam looked at his brother expectantly, enjoying the sight of the smile that had been too rare lately.

"You remember we're Dean and Sam Walker?" Dean started, "Ok. Story is, Nathan got in touch with us on behalf of an association of ranchers out near the Navajo Reservation. Turns out Nathan's uncle was VERY well respected. The association's been offering a reward for the capture of his killer for years."

"I thought the family was being close mouthed about everything?"

"The family was. This association is an outside organization. It's not tribal. So the story is, they weren't getting very far with finding the killer until Father Jim told Nathan about us. We tracked the truck down on the east coast, saw the pattern…"

"Well, that much is the truth," Sam muttered.

"And the rest is history," Dean continued, ignoring the interruption. "We stick with the story of him snatching you after the mountain lion attack in the park, and the way things panned out after that. Nathan and I have already come up with a story that covers any evidence they might find. Don't worry, we'll go over the details. Nathan's making sure our asses are covered in Arizona."

"I take it we're leaving out the part where Betzgai turned into an animal?" Sam asked with raised eyebrows, earning a 'well, duh' look from his brother.

"They're already pinning that new fire near Madison Run Road on him. They found a gas can near the ignition point." Dean's smile faded. "They found his truck. A bit singed on the outside, but most of the stuff inside survived. He kept trophies, Sam." Dean looked around the room and Sam could see the muscle in the side of his jaw working as he tried to control his anger. "Wallets, ID's, jewelry…he had the bank bag from Susan Macy's restaurant. They've solved a hell of a lot of missing person cases off of this. And not just the ones around the AT. Looks like he was a busy boy before he got anywhere near the east coast."

Dean stood up and began pacing around the room. "That's why they're going to accept this as a gift without looking into our story too closely. The Feds don't even want to talk to us. The fact that this guy has been operating as long as he has without them even knowing it… It just doesn't look good. He's dead and they just want the whole thing to go away."

"But the stuff they found…they're going to let the families of the victims know…right?" The months of worry for their father was too fresh in Sam's mind for him to be willing to ignore the torture other families must be going through, not knowing.

"Yeah, they'll come up with some story to cover the bases, I'm sure." Dean stopped near the foot of the bed and cleared his throat, staring down at the blanket over Sam's feet. When he looked up Sam could see a slight glimmer of moisture in his eyes. "I…uh…I called Susan's restaurant this morning. Chrissie was…" He stopped and cleared his throat again, running his hand through his hair. "She…uh…thanked me. For letting her know."

Dean turned away and walked to the room's window. He stood looking out, his back to Sam. The sunlight outlined his figure, making it easy for Sam to see when his head dropped slightly and his shoulders slumped. "The people around here are calling us heroes, Sammy." He shook his head from side to side and Sam watched silently, waiting to see where this was going.

"Wilson Betzgai was seriously bad news. We'll probably never know how many people he hurt. And I was ready to put the skids on the hunt because I didn't trust your motives. I'm sorry." He said the last so quietly that Sam would have missed it if the room wasn't so quiet.

"Dean, you don't have anything to be sorry about. I didn't exactly make it easy for you to trust me…talking to people at Stanford and shutting you out. Just remember, no matter how screwed up everything was when this all started, we got past the bull when it mattered."

Sam reached for a cup and straw sitting on the tray next to his bed, allowing the silence to stretch. He sipped slowly, letting the moisture ease the growing thickness in his throat. When he knew he could continue talking without his voice cracking he put the cup back on the tray.

"I'm not going to lie to you. They're my friends and I'm going to stay in touch with them. I'm not going to hide it anymore…and you're going to have to learn how to deal with it. But dude, they're friends…and you're my brother. You're always going to come first with me. You've got to trust me. Because if we can't trust each other…then we've got nothing." Sam leaned back against the head of the bed and watched Dean through half opened eyes. The short speech, or maybe the strong emotions behind it, had zapped much of his depleted energy.

Dean squared his shoulders and turned slowly. "So…what we said a couple of days ago…the hunt is over. Do you still want to leave?" Dean raised his hand and scratched at the back of his head, trying for nonchalant. His eyes flitted around the room resting briefly on seemingly every object in it before finally settling on Sam.

Sam had been ready to lash out at his brother's question, that after everything that had happened, after the things that had just been said, his brother could still wonder if Sam was about to walk out on him. The look in Dean's eyes drained the anger from him. The fear was plain to see, but so was the hope. "Let me ask you," Sam said quietly. "The hunt is over. Do you still think I should leave?"

A small smile tugged at the corners of Dean's mouth. "When you put it that way… We were both asses that night. No, I don't think you should leave. I need you where I can keep an eye on you and keep you out of trouble."

"You keep ME out of trouble? You got that backwards Calamity Jane," Sam snorted. "And you were the only ass that night. I was witched," he said smugly.

Dean moved back to the side of the bed. "If I change my vote to 'yes you should leave' do I still have to share the reward?"

Sam's eyes widened. "We're actually getting the reward?"

"Hell, yeah. It's not huge, but it's enough to keep my baby gassed up for a while. Nathan's already getting the paperwork rolling. I don't want to hang around here waiting for it though. I think we'll get while the getting's good. So after they spring you from here, I figure we'll take our time and head to Arizona. Maybe we'll swing south, there's a witchy woman in Louisiana I'd kind of like to stop by to see, and then west through Texas…eastern part of the state's a little boring…but there's a great barbeque place…"

The steady drone of his brother's voice turned into a quiet hum in Sam's ears. A hum that promised that, at least for the moment, he was safe and protected. Dean had his back.

He could relax back into sleep knowing, deep in his bones, that no matter how screwed up things could sometimes get between them, no matter how much they argued and sniped at each other, no matter how different they sometimes seemed…their commitment to each other would always be there. That fact was a basic truth in their lives. It was what gave their lives balance. It was what made them strong.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-HOZHO-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

_yah-tah-hey_ Navajo greeting

_biligaana_ Caucasians, non-Navajo

_Diné_ 'The People', the Navajo people

_hozho_ beauty, harmony, balance

_Yei_ an abbreviation of the term _Yei-Be-Chai_, a deity or holy one

**Next Up:** I am working on my next 'long' story. It will be called 'The Highwayman' and is loosely based on the Alfred Noyes poem, and the Loreena McKennitt song that made me fall in love with it. I'm about 50 pages into it, so it's coming along. I might write something shorter in the meantime…so you don't all forget about me. Try as you might.

**A/N** I would like to give my sincerest thanks to everyone who has joined me on this adventure. 'Hozho' combines so many of my passions that you will never truly know how much it has meant to me to have readers embrace it. Your kind words and encouragement throughout have made me laugh and made me cry. I shared a big part of myself in this story, and you humbled me with your generosity of spirit.

Yes, PITA, I'm still a sentimental slob.

Remember to always 'have the backs' of the people you care about, and believe in them. It is one of the most valuable gifts you will ever give them.

This story would not be here if not for the group on the SFTCOL(AR)S board, because I would never have had the guts to start posting. And Jenilee, it would never even have been written if not for you.

I'll end with a very well known Navajo chant. It is used in a ceremony which helps to restore _hozho_ that has been lost, including harmony with the natural world. The word 'beauty' is used to signify _hozho_.

_In beauty may I walk  
All day long may I walk  
Through the returning seasons may I walk  
Beautifully I will possess again  
Beautifully birds  
Beautifully joyful birds  
On the trail marked with pollen may I walk  
With grasshoppers about my feet may I walk  
With dew about my feet may I walk  
With beauty may I walk _

With beauty before me may I walk  
With beauty behind me may I walk  
With beauty above me may I walk  
With beauty all around me may I walk

In old age, wandering on a trail of beauty, lively, may I walk  
In old age, wandering on a trail of beauty, living again, may I walk  
It is finished in beauty  
It is finished in beauty 


End file.
